Forsaken
by xavionite
Summary: Joe White brings devastating news to the Five-0 ohana. Can they accept it, and will their family ever be complete again? Rated T just to be on the safe side. Plenty of whump. No slash.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Usually, I don't write fan fiction for shows that are still in production, but this story has been begging me to write it for the past few months (probably because the hubby and I binge-watched the whole series as far as we could on Netflix and then the CBS app until we caught up a few weeks ago). I know that what I've written will clash with the upcoming season 8, but I had to write it anyway, and I hope you will enjoy the story as much as I enjoy the story-crafting. Assumptions I am making after the Season 7 finale: Steve will have to take some time off or at least scale back while dealing with his radiation sickness, and Kono will return. Now that summer is coming (ahh, the delight of a bone-tired teacher!), I will try to update twice a month, but I am also working on two other stories and I am preparing to travel to Ukraine to work at youth camps for a few weeks in June/July, so there may be some delays.**

 **Thank you to Kat Bybee for serving as my Beta reader and to my son for being my research consultant (I think he's as excited as I am about this). Your help and encouragement is invaluable!**

 **Disclaimers: 1) I do not own any of the 5-0 characters, but they somehow got inside my head and started talking, so I had to start writing. I make no money from this, I promise. 2) I am neither a doctor nor a Navy SEAL, and I am not on any elite crime-fighting task force. I do love research and I strive for accuracy, but I can and do make mistakes. If you see something that is beyond the bounds of creative license, please let me know in a kind and constructive manner so that I may correct it. 3) I love studying languages and when I can, I will, to the best of my ability, use bits and pieces of other languages in my story to help create the atmosphere I want. I will always include a glossary at the beginning of the chapter. I can only claim a decent level of fluency in English (my native tongue) and German. If you are familiar with a language I use here and see a mistake, please let me know and I will correct it. Thank you!**

* * *

 **Glossary (Russian to English)**

 **Vy zakonchili skanirovaniye…? - Have you completed your scan…?**

 **Lyudmila Mikhailovna; Andrei Vasil'yevich – These are examples of formal Russian address, using the given name and the patronymic (a name indicating "daughter of" or "son of"). In this case, "Daughter of Michael" and "Son of Basil."**

 **Imyarek - a Russian version of John Doe**

 **Prodolzhayetye – continue**

 **Varvary – barbarians**

 **Spasibo – Thank you**

* * *

 _Antiseptic smell… can't move… body numb… far away voices… hospital? No, doesn't feel right… Why can't I open my eyes? Wait… what language is that? Try to fight… try to get away… Please… no…! Awareness fades… nothing…._

* * *

 **"** **Vy zakonchili skanirovaniye, Lyudmila Mikhailovna?"** A slender man wearing a white lab coat and a tall white cap peered over the shoulder of his colleague, a heavy-set woman similarly clad, at the patient stretched out on the exam table.

"Yes, Andrei Vasil'yevich," the woman responded, likewise in Russian. "There are no tracking devices. He started coming to, but I sedated him again. He should be out for another four hours."

"Catalogue." Andrei Vasil'yevich Orlov took a pen from the breast pocket of his lab coat and prepared to write notes on the patient's file. At the top, he scrawled the name, **Imyarek.** "Injuries?"

Lyudmila Mikhailovna Ivanova "Probable concussion from a severe blow to the occiput—it could be fractured and may cause visual disturbance. Patient requires an MRI."

Orlov scoffed as he made the notation. "You are no longer in your St. Petersburg clinic, Doctor. We have no such equipment. Continue."

Ivanova sighed. "Open fracture of the left humerus with radial nerve involvement. Appears to be at least a week old, but has been left untreated. Deep laceration below the right eye, approximately six centimeters. Sutures are contraindicated at this time. Numerous minor lacerations and contusions. Patient appears to have been beaten before he was sent to us." She shook her head and muttered under her breath, **"Varvary."**

Orlov ignored her. **"Prodolzhayetye,"** he said. "If you are done with injuries, move on to identifying marks." He started a new column of notes, scribbling the header, then poising the pen above the paper while he waited for his colleague to proceed.

"Large tattoo on each bicep… a scar from previous abdominal surgery…" She ran through a litany of the patient's many scars, and finally fell silent.

 **"** **Spasibo,** Lyudmila Mikhailovna."

"Do you know anything about our patient, Doctor?" Ivanova asked.

Orlov opened the file and glanced through it. "Only what our North Korean friends disclosed here, and that doesn't even include a name—Prisoner #58326, arrested as a spy, incited a riot among his fellow prisoners in the camp in Kwaechon, saved at the last moment from execution for reasons unstated, and sent here to spend the rest of his life enjoying our fine accommodations." That last comment was accompanied by a wry twist of his lips. "Our supplies, as you know, are limited. We do the best we can with what we have—keep that in mind as you treat him. If he dies, all the easier for him; if he lives, we'll eventually release him for work detail."

"Should we not try to discover his identity?" Dr. Ivanova asked. "Surely his people are looking for him."

Orlov arched his eyebrows. "He is a man without a country, Lyudmila Mikhailovna," he stated. "He has no people. We are bound by our nation's contractual agreements with North Korea to keep him here and put him to work, sending his pay to Pyongyang just as we do with all the other workers. Now, do your job and let me get on with mine." He placed the prisoner's chart on a rickety desk and stepped out of the exam room without another word.

Doctor Ivanova leaned over her patient and whispered near his ear. "I wondered why I was exiled to this wasteland—now I know. I am here to do whatever it takes to get you home. Rest well and heal. I will do all that I can for you."

* * *

Danny paced the floor of Steve's office, muttering in frustration. Joe White stood to the side, his arms crossed, his face devoid of emotion. Kono and Chin stood in the doorway, eyes wide with shock. Lou and Jerry were absent, the former visiting his parents on the mainland while the latter was home sick with the flu. Catherine Rollins, who had accompanied Joe to the Palace, sat on Steve's sofa, her face pale and streaked with tears, her eyes still moist. _She never stopped loving him,_ Danny thought suddenly, a surge of anger passing through him at the thought of what Steve had suffered because she couldn't settle down and stay in one place. "Spill it, Joe! What do you mean, we've lost Steve?!" He wanted to throw something, punch somebody, or maybe just wrap his hands around Joe's neck and squeeze, because he'd lay odds that Joe was responsible for this somehow.

"Breathe, Danny," Joe said quietly. "You're of no help to anyone if you can't control your emotions."

Danny rubbed at the bridge of his nose as he took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Fine. I'm calm. Now answer my question. What do you mean, we've lost Steve? Last thing he told me, he was going on an extended vacation with an old friend. Now that he's over most of the effects of the radiation poisoning, he needed a little time to relax and recharge before he returns to full duty here."

"I can't go into a lot of detail," Joe explained. "The operation Steve was part of is highly classified and the vacation was his cover."

At the word "classified," Danny rolled his eyes. He'd heard it repeatedly from Steve before and it never failed to rankle him.

Joe ignored the detective's frustration. "I've already told you more than I should have. I'm here because I made a promise to Steve that… that if something happened, I would tell his Five-0 ohana the truth, that I would give his last message to you all. Like I said, the vacation story was a cover. Steve volunteered for a mission in North Korea that was crucial to our national security. The mission was a success, but Steve was captured and charged with espionage. He knew from the get-go that if he was compromised in any way, our government would have no choice but to disavow all knowledge of his activities there—it was a risk he accepted. My sources informed me yesterday that he was interred two weeks ago in a labor camp in Kwaechon, where he was then blamed for a riot among the prisoners. He has since been moved, but my source does not know where."

Danny frowned as he sat down on Steve's sofa and rested his head in his hands. The thought of his best friend in a labor camp, forsaken by the very country he had served for so many years, was physically painful to him. He looked up at Joe, blinking back the tears he felt forming. "We can't just leave him there," he said hoarsely. "What am I supposed to tell Grace and Charlie? They'll never forgive me if I don't do something to bring their favorite uncle back. C'mon, Joe. This isn't like you. Once upon a time, you'd have been the first one on the plane to go after him." He decided to drive the knife a little deeper. "I thought Steve was like a son to you."

Joe sighed, his emotions finally starting to break through his stoic exterior. "I wish I could tell you something different, Danny. This isn't like the time we rescued him from Wo Fat. Steve is in the government's hands this time. A rescue mission would be suicidal. They are never going to let him go. In a few days, you will receive word that Steve was killed in a climbing accident in the Alps, that his body was unrecoverable. This is what you have to tell Grace and Charlie."

Danny stepped towards Joe, fury burning in his eyes. "And I'm supposed to be satisfied with that? Lie to my kids, pretend he's dead, and let it go?!"

"By now, he probably _is_ dead." Joe's eyes glistened, and Danny knew this had affected the gruff older SEAL more than he was willing to let on.

Catherine let out a soft moan. Kono moved swiftly to her side and hugged her, but Danny felt no sympathy. _If she had just given him a chance to propose… if she had said yes… he never would have volunteered for this mission._ He felt a brief pang of guilt for blaming her, but he pushed it aside. He was angry and he wanted to stay angry. Catherine had no right, spurning Steve the way she did and then waltzing in here all grief-stricken like this. "You said you had a last message for us," he growled. "Give it to us, and then get out, both of you."

Joe pulled a battered envelope from inside his jacket and thrust it at Danny. "There. Take it." He patted Catherine on the shoulder, murmured gently to her, and then helped her to her feet. "I wish I could have come with better news," he said to them all as he guided her to the door. "I'm… sorry."


	2. Chapter 2

**I am overwhelmed! The messages and follows and favorites and reviews have all combined to inspire me to write more and get chapter 2 out sooner than I expected. So, here it is. Mahalo to you all! Mahalo as well to my awesome beta reader, Kat Bybee, and to my son-your suggestions and encouragement are a huge help! There will be a bit longer wait for chapter 3 because I really need to get out another chapter in my Hart to Hart and Emergency stories.**

 **Not sure how the the beginning of the story got tacked on again at the end! I've fixed it now and will go through and make sure there are no other problems when I have a moment during the day. Can't do it now or I'll be late to school!**

 **Note: I have changed the name of the male doctor to Orlov instead of Yelchin.**

 **Update: Sigh... it is quite frustrating when I make a correction multiple times and then discover the incorrect version is still in the file when I post it! The original post had Dr. Orlov reaching for ankle cuffs when they were already on Steve! That line has been removed and hopefully everything is now as it should be. :)**

* * *

 **Glossary**

 **Itak, vy pronulis'? – So, you are awake?**

 **Vy khorosho vyzdoravlivayete. - You are recovering well**

* * *

Danny Williams felt ready to explode. A rant of epic proportions was just on the tip of his tongue, and it took all his power to hold it in. He looked down from the dais, meeting eyes over the podium with his team. They had all come together for Steve's memorial at the National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific. The whole affair left a rotten taste in Danny's mouth. This fake service did nothing to give Steve's ohana peace or comfort.

Little Charlie sat ramrod straight next to Kono, a stuffed seal Steve had given him clutched tight in one hand while his other hand clenched his Auntie's. Grace's absence stung. Without a body to prove it, she had refused to believe the news. This morning, she had been furious with Danny for getting all dressed up to go to the service. "How can you betray Uncle Steve that way, Danno?!" she had insisted. "If something happened to you, he wouldn't rest until he figured it out and brought you home! You said he tried climbing with faulty safety gear. There's no way he would have made a mistake like that and you know it!"

He had almost caved then and there and told her the truth, almost pulled out the envelope containing Steve's last letter to him. His friend's voice rang in his ears even now, as if he had spoken the words instead of writing them.

 _If you're reading this, Danno, then my mission succeeded but things still went sideways and Joe has told you I won't be coming home. You probably got so mad you kicked him out of the office, but you can't blame him. He tried to convince me not to take the assignment. I guess you're right calling me a danger magnet. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you the truth from the get-go, but it was classified. Yeah, I know how much that word bugs you. At least I didn't get you shot this time! Seriously though, please know that I accepted this mission fully aware of the possible consequences. The cause was worth giving my life for. Thank you for your friendship, brother. I don't think I ever realized how empty my life was until our Five-0 ohana, especially you, came along to fill it. Hug Grace and Charlie for me and let them know their Uncle Steve loved them till his very last breath. And Danno… please attend my memorial service, no matter how angry you are. I can't think of anyone better to give my eulogy than you._

 _With love,_

 _Steve_

Each member of Five-0 had received a letter, scrawled on a single sheet of paper and jammed together into the envelope Joe had handed Danny. They had sat together on Steve's lanai and read them. Danny didn't know what the other letters said, but Kono had cried reading hers, and Chin got up to take a long walk on the beach alone. Lou, who had caught the first flight back to Oahu after getting the news, just shook his head and muttered under his breath, while Jerry spouted off a dozen new conspiracy theories.

And now, they all sat together in the rows of uncomfortable folding chairs, mourning the loss of a friend who could very well still be alive, and Danny hated himself for it. He had almost missed his cue to get up and deliver the eulogy, but Chin elbowed him in the side, and now here he was behind the podium, unable to say the words he really wanted to say: _The Neanderthal is still alive, people! Let's go get him back._

"Uh… with Steve and me, I have to admit, it was hate at first sight." He paused to accommodate the round of chuckles that came from everyone who was aware of the contentious relationship between the partners. "I mean, within less than a second of our first encounter, we had drawn weapons on one another. Then, after stealing my crime scene, Steven shanghaied me onto his task force! Before that case ended, he had already gotten me shot the first time. I thought a million times about walking away, but I could never do it, and then somehow—even though I couldn't stand him… somehow the idiot grew on me." Danny blinked his eyes a few times to force back the rush of tears he felt building. "He became my best friend, my… my brother. In spite of our many disagreements, it didn't take me long to discover that Steven McGarrett was the kind of man you wanted to have on your side. He was a man who did the right thing no matter what, loyal to a fault, compassionate, willing to risk himself for the sake of others without a second thought. I can only hope that someday I can be the kind of man Steve was." He looked up towards the sky, wondering whether Steve really was dead or was languishing in some prison camp somewhere. "If you can hear me, Steve, we miss you buddy." He rubbed moisture from his eyes as he stepped down from the dais and returned to his seat between Charlie and Chin.

* * *

Drowsy eyes blinked open as the patient regained awareness. His head ached and sleep beckoned him back to its arms, but he was desperate to remain awake. He had too many questions to sleep. How long had passed since the first time he had begun to awaken? He vaguely remembered hearing another language… not one he had expected to hear… but he couldn't place what it was.

He tried looking around, but everything beyond the foot of his bed was a blur. He blinked again, hopeful that his vision would clear, but it didn't help. He squinted to see more clearly. The effort caused his headache to intensify, but it helped him make out more of his surroundings. His bed was only one of many. _Infirmary,_ he thought. At the moment, he seemed to be the only patient. At the end of the room, a figure hunched over what seemed to be a desk. He wondered whether he should call out, let the person know he was conscious. _Trust no one_ flashed through his mind. He wasn't sure where the words came from, but he would heed them. Rather than asking his questions, he would listen and observe to gather intelligence.

His pounding headache and an insistent ache in his left arm drew his attention to himself. Looking down, he saw the arm bent over his chest, encased in a cast from the wrist almost to the shoulder. _How did I break that?_ he wondered. _How did I get here? Where is here anyway?_ His eyes moved to his other arm, which was secured by an iron cuff to the bed. His feet were covered by a blanket, but he could tell they were cuffed as well. _So I am a prisoner. But why?_

The figure at the end of the room began moving toward him, becoming gradually less blurred as it drew closer. Soon it stood over him and he could see that it was a tall man dressed in a white lab coat and cap. _A doctor,_ he thought, but he did not speak.

 **"** **Itak, vy pronulis'?"** the doctor asked.

He did not respond. The words made no sense to him.

"So, you are awake?"

This time the question came in heavily accented English and he understood. Still, he chose not to answer. The words _trust no one_ continued to beat in his throbbing skull and he considered them sage advice, even if he didn't know where they came from.

The doctor repeated the question in several different languages—he only understood two of them… Korean and Chinese… but could not think how or when he had learned them.

The thoughts he had as he stared up at the doctor startled him. He found himself regarding the man as a potential enemy, evaluating his probable strengths and weaknesses and the best way to kill him, if it came to that.

The doctor produced a pen from the vest pocket of his lab coat and held it in front of the patient's face, moving it side to side. He tried to follow it, but had trouble tracking the moving object. Then the doctor wrapped cool fingers around his left wrist, just under the cuff, to take his pulse, then inserted a thermometer under his tongue. Keeping time with his watch, he slid the thermometer out and checked it, nodding in satisfaction before putting the instrument back in a pocket of his lab coat.

He felt pressure around his arm, something squeezing tight, and he almost panicked, but then remembered. _Blood pressure cuff. No need to worry._

When the doctor had removed the cuff and recorded the results, he nodded again. **"Vy khorosho vyzdoravlivayete.** **"**

 _Wait a minute… khorosho… that means… good. Russian, I think. He is pleased about something._

"You are recovering well," the doctor said in English, carefully observing his patient's eyes as he spoke. "I believe you understand me. You just do not want me to know." He sat in a chair next to the bed. "I am Doctor Andrei Vasil'yevich Orlov. I was trained as a psychiatrist, so I understand the mind and its workings. I see much stubbornness in your eyes. Stubbornness will help you here, but it could also kill you."

 _Here? Where is here?_

"You are in the Amur Region of the Russian Federation," the doctor answered, as if he could indeed read his recalcitrant patient's mind. "This is a timber camp, administered by Russia and worked by North Koreans. They sent you to us—why, I am not sure. Your file says you were a prisoner—they do not usually send us prisoners these days." He bent to inspect the cuffed wrist. "Your file lists you as a flight risk. This is why you are restrained. As we get to know you better, perhaps that will change. But first, you must answer my questions. What is your name? Where are you from?"

He wrinkled his forehead, considering the two questions carefully, but saying nothing—he was not yet ready to abandon his resolve to remain silent. It made no difference, though—he could not have answered if he'd tried. He closed his eyes and turned his head away from the doctor, feigning sleep so that he could think. _Amur region… Russian Federation… that's above China and North and South Korea. If I know that, why the hell can't I remember who I am? And how am I going to get out of here and get home… wherever home is?_

 **Author's Note: When I first started writing this story, I had the image in my mind of Steve ending up in a labor camp in Siberia. When I decided to research the existence of such camps in the present day, I discovered that North Korea regularly sends workers to timber camps in Siberia. When these camps got started in the 60s under Brezhnev, the workers were primarily criminals and political prisoners. Nowadays, though, North Korea no longer sends prisoners to do the work-they send citizens who are eager to go. So, it's a bit of license on my part to have Steve sent to one of these camps, but hey... clerical errors happen, right?**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author Note: Well, I had all sorts of plans to write chapters for my Emergency and Hart to Hart stories, but those characters aren't talking to me at the moment, and the H50 characters won't shut up. Squeaky wheel gets the grease, so here is chapter 3 for your enjoyment. Thank you again for the response! I love seeing your messages and reviews.**

 **At this point in the story, when I write for Steve, I will refer to him as Imyarek, because at the moment this is the only name he knows for himself. Also, though I love incorporating other languages into my writing, I'm going to stick to English when my characters are speaking Korean—it's not a language I've studied, and I have no confidence in Google to give me a passable translation. I have done some research on Korean names and hope that I am forming them correctly. If anyone knows more than I do about it (and I know very little), please do correct me.**

 **As for the logging camps, they do exist, and I have tried to keep my description true to what I have read about them in my research. If you want to know more, search "North Korea" "logging camps" and "Siberia" and you'll get lots of information.**

 **My apologies to anyone who saw the notice that this chapter was posted, then came to read and found it was gone. I had trouble posting because the system kept putting lots of gibberish in, so I just deleted the chapter before I hurried off to work. Now I've got my kiddos working on their math, so I can take a minute to try again.**

* * *

Lyudmila stared at the letter she had started to her sister, but her mind was not on it. She kept thinking about Imyarek, as Orlov had named the silent prisoner who lay at the end of the small infirmary. For the moment, the haughty doctor was away from the camp and she could tend her patient according to his needs. But as soon as Orlov returned, he would continue to refuse any consideration of proper therapy for the man's broken arm. Really, Imyarek should simply be transported to a city with better medical facilities to receive the treatment he needed, not just for his arm, but to determine the extent of his brain injury. But Orlov fancied himself an expert in all medicine, even though his skills beyond his chosen field of psychiatry were minimal. He had decreed that Imyarek's arm would heal just fine without the surgery Lyudmila considered necessary. Surgery would lengthen his recovery time and required resources they did not have. It was out of the question.

Lyudmila shook her head in disgust. She had been transferred here and placed under his supervision as a punishment, she knew. Her family was well-known for their opposition to the current government. She had tried to distance herself from them, though, and managed to build her career as a doctor. What had it gotten her? When her younger brother Sergei had crossed the border earlier this year to enlist with the Ukrainian troops fighting the Russian occupation in their eastern regions, she lost her position in St. Petersburg and was assigned here, under a self-important doctor who considered himself above learning anything new.

There must be some way she could help Imyarek. They knew now for certain that English was his language—though he had not spoken a word while conscious, sometimes he muttered in his sleep, and they had made out English words. Orlov had convinced himself that the man was a British spy and extremely dangerous, but if Lyudmila were a betting woman, she would wager on American. _Whatever_ _he is,_ she thought, _if the North Korean government considers him an enemy_ , _then he is likely a decent man. Then again, even a decent man can be a danger to those who threaten decency._

Imyarek slept, or at least pretended to. He never seemed completely at rest. Even under the influence of sedatives, he slept like a warrior, always on the alert for any danger. Lyudmila was certain he had military training of some sort. She picked up her mobile phone and walked across the room to his side. He stirred slightly at her approach, and she was sure that even with his eyes closed he knew exactly where she was. Her phone had no reception here in camp, but it did have a camera that could take a reasonable picture. Perhaps if she could send her brother a picture, he could find a way to help. There were always journalists visiting the Ukrainian troops. Perhaps one of them could dig a little and discover the man's identity and, just maybe, help get him back home where he belonged.

Quickly, in case Orlov returned early, she opened the camera app, aimed, and snapped the picture. Tomorrow she was scheduled for a trip into Urusha to restock supplies. While there, she would take a moment to duck into an internet café and send the picture to Sergei, along with an explanation and a request for help. Her brother was skilled with computers, and before leaving had helped her set up a way to email him that was private and untraceable. Of course, eventually she would be linked to whoever came for Imyarek, but she would take that chance. Like Sergei, she wanted to take a stand for what she believed was right, and helping this man felt right.

Slipping the phone into her pocket, she returned to the desk where she had left her afternoon meal—a bowl of borscht. She picked it up and carried it to Imyarek's bedside. Her English was not as good as Orlov's, but she could make herself understood. "I wish you talk to me," she said softly. "I wish help you."

He opened his eyes and turned his gaze on her. She smiled softly at him, thinking if she were a little younger, she might swoon over him like a school girl. "I understand," she said. "You not know, who you trust. Is hard question in my land, not only for you. Dr. Orlov asks many questions; I not ask you anything. Only promise you—I do good for you. Now, you sit up, eat good food." So far, he had eaten only what the North Koreans received—a few bowls of rice each day. He ate hungrily enough, but he was still too thin and such meager fare would not help him grow strong again. She tilted his bed upward, then held the bowl of borscht under his nose. "Breathe in deep," she said, then filled a spoon and guided it to his mouth. "Better than rice, yes?"

He accepted the bite and nodded, and she took pleasure in the gratitude she saw in his eyes. "Imyarek… this is name we give you. In English, this is John… Smith, I think. It means… we not know your name."

"John Doe," he croaked, his voice rough with disuse.

She fed him another bite of the borscht and smiled. "You have other name?" she asked.

He shook his head slightly. When he winced at the movement, she knew his head must hurt. "Don't remember."

"Is not surprise," she said. "You have head injury. I believe, memory will in time return."

Soon the borscht was down to the dregs. "Sleep now," Lyudmila told Imyarek. "Tomorrow Orlov says you must work. You move to barracks." When he had closed his eyes and settled against the pillows, she returned the bowl and spoon to the desk, where she resumed her seat and picked up her pen once again.

 _Dearest Katya,_ she wrote. _Last time I wrote to you, I said I felt without purpose here in this wilderness. I was angry that Sergei's choices brought me to this place. But in the last week, I have discovered a purpose. Even here there is good I can do. Greet Mama and give her a hug and kiss for me. Love, Mila._

* * *

Danny growled in frustration and flopped his head back against the headrest. Once again, he had gotten into his Camaro on the passenger side. After all those years of ranting at Steve about taking over his car, here he was, for the third time this week, leaving the driver's seat for his best friend. "Damn it, Steven," he muttered. "I can't do this anymore." He got out and walked around the car to the driver's side, slid in behind the wheel, and turned the key in the ignition.

After the memorial service, the governor had suggested 5-0's members take some time off, but they had all believed they would deal with their loss better by getting back to work. It wasn't helping. Danny's focus was off, and he knew the rest of the team were having the same problem. Thankfully, things were quiet right now, and today Danny had passed on their two open cases to HPD. He had just dropped Grace (the stubborn kid still wasn't talking to him) and Charlie at Rachel's, and now he and the gang would gather at Steve's to drink some Longboards and reminisce.

The house had become something of a shrine for them in the week since they'd gotten the news. Danny had a key, but he hadn't been inside—no one had. Even Mary hadn't been in, and it was her house now. When she came from the mainland for the memorial, she and Joan had stayed in a hotel and then hurried back to Los Angeles right after the service. It was too much for her, she had explained to Danny. Eventually, when she felt stronger, she would return. Then she and Danny would go through Steve's things, decide what to keep and what to give away, and finally the house would go on the market. Danny was determined to delay that step as long as possible.

He pulled into Steve's driveway. Kono and Lou's vehicles were already here, and Chin was just pulling in on his '66 Triumph. Jerry would be along any time now. Danny sat in his car, head back and eyes closed until he heard a rapping at the window.

"You all right, brah?" Chin asked when he opened the door.

"Just thinking," Danny said.

"We've all been doing a lot of that lately." Chin stepped back so Danny could get out of the car. "So tell me, brah, what are you thinking?"

Danny hesitated a moment, and then the words tumbled out. "I'm thinking I want to go get Steve out of that hellhole and bring him home."

Chin just nodded. "Pretty much what I was thinking." He clapped Danny on the shoulder. "Shall we go see if the others agree?"

Only then did Danny realize he had been holding his breath after sharing his thoughts. He exhaled a long sigh of relief, glad that Chin hadn't declared him insane. Maybe it was a suicide mission, but Steve was part of their ohana, and no way were they giving up on him.

* * *

There was not much work at a timber camp appropriate for a man with only one working arm. Since early this morning, Imyarek had been stationed at the controls of a large log splitter, which could be operated with one hand. A Korean worker named Yong Eun-Suk had been tasked with training the newcomer, while Pak Hun-Ji fed the logs into the machine. All day, the glare of the sun and the noise of the splitter had left his head pounding.

At dawn, he had been awakened from sleep by Dr. Orlov. His arm ached and everything more than a few feet distant from him was still a blur. Behind the doctor stood an armed guard. Imyarek felt a sense of revulsion at the sight of the man's uniform, but he could not explain why.

"Today you begin to earn your keep," Orlov informed him. "I will uncuff you now. If you attempt to run or you try to harm me, Lieutenant Kim here will kill you without a second thought. Do you understand?"

Imyarek just stared straight ahead, keeping his expression stony. Most likely the doctor had heard from Ivanova that he had spoken the previous day, but he refused to respond to Orlov. Ivanova had treated him like a human being, but Orlov spoke to him as though he were little more than a bug to be squashed and scraped off the shoe. Imyarek would not try to run or to harm anyone—not yet, at least; he knew he needed to learn more about where he was before he made any plans for escape. When he was ready, though, he was confident that he could get Kim's weapon away from him and defend himself if he needed to. _Be polite, be professional, but have a plan to kill everybody you meet.*_ The thought flitted through his head, but he had no idea where he'd heard it.

Apparently, Orlov took his silence for assent. He unfastened the cuffs that secured Imyarek to the bed and then tugged him into a sitting position. Imyarek fought a wave of dizziness, but managed to get to his feet with minimal assistance. Kim took him by the arm and marched him to the door.

They slogged through the mud to the canteen, where Imyarek stood in line with the other workers for a meager breakfast of rice. Then he was brought to the log splitter and left under the authority of Eun-Suk and Hun-Ji. To his dismay, Lieutenant Kim cuffed him by one ankle to the base of his work station before returning to his patrol.

All day long, North Korean music played over loudspeakers throughout the camp, punctuated by slogans praising the "Glorious Leader" and exhortations to work hard for North Korea's glory. At least the log splitter was loud enough to drown out much of the constant noise.

Suk and Ji had been cautiously welcoming to the stranger, and clearly curious how he came to be among them. He nodded a greeting to them, but did not speak, preferring to let them think he could not understand their language. He would learn far more if they were not concerned about what he overheard. Suk relied on hand gestures to teach his new student what was expected and took time trying to teach him a few basic words in Korean as well. When the pupil remained silent, focusing all his attention on his work, Suk abandoned his efforts and made conversation with Ji. The noise of the splitter ensured that no one beyond their small circle could hear them.

"I tried to exchange my pay coupons for cash yesterday," Suk said. "No luck. I wonder if my father was able to use the ones I sent home."

"Our 'earthly paradise,'" Ji scoffed. "I warned you when you came here—the coupons are worthless. Still think our 'Great Leader' offers us prosperity?"

Imyarek's heart skipped a beat. He knew for Ji to speak so candidly was a dangerous thing; he must trust Suk implicitly.

The man fingered his Kim Jong-Un badge, a compulsory part of every worker's attire, though Imyarek had not received one. "No," he said. He hefted another log and fed it into the splitter. "But I cannot run. My parents will suffer."

Ji nodded in understanding. "I know… if mine were still living, I would never consider it. The new man, Rhee Chul-Gun, brought me word, my wife and son fled to China. I have to go soon, or I will be sent back."

Now Imyarek was listening very closely. Escape by himself through a terrain he did not know, injured as he was, could well prove impossible. But with friends, perhaps he could make it. _Play your cards close to the vest._ The thought took him by surprise. Why could he remember such things, and not the details of his life? He would not waste time worrying about it. He would take time to be sure he could trust Ji and Suk, and then he would reveal his hand.

He lost all track of time that day, and was unsure how long he had been working when he was unchained and led back to the canteen for another small meal of rice. After that, he joined the other workers in a classroom where they watched a film about how they were privileged to be citizens of paradise, how their Great Leader loved his children and would provide all good things for them. Then they returned to work until darkness fell. After a final bowl of rice, they were sent to their beds. Imyarek was given a cot near Ji and Suk, who apparently were his keepers now.

His whole body ached with exhaustion. His work had not been all that hard, but he was still weak from his injuries and his head had been pounding all day. He longed for something to take the edge off the pain. At last, he drifted into a troubled sleep, in which he dreamed of the beach and a young girl swimming in the ocean. She laughed and splashed, and she called for someone named Danno. Memories of the dream fled the instant Imyarek awoke before dawn the next morning, but it left behind a sense of homesickness, a longing for something he could not hope to grasp.

* * *

 ***Quote by retired Marine Corps General James Mattis. I figured it was the sort of thing a Navy SEAL might have heard at some point.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: I had hoped to post this chapter on Memorial Day, but wasn't able to get it done in time. It's two days later, but I still want to take a moment to honor those who made the ultimate sacrifice in the ongoing fight for freedom. And to those of you who have lost loved ones in service, please know that you have my prayers and my deepest respect.**

 **I hope you enjoy this chapter (even those of you who can't stand Catherine). It presented me with a few specific problems: First, my character Sergei, who is just meant to be a minor character, demanded more attention than I had been prepared to give him. Really, he wanted to explain the whole history behind the current war in Ukraine and his reasons for joining up. I did manage to hold him back on that for the most part, but I let him say a little bit about his back story. Most likely he'll make me regret it later because he'll take the inch I gave him and make it a mile. Second, I am no military strategist, my only experience of war has been in the pages of books, on television, and in the news, and I really have no clue where the front line in Ukraine's current war will be drawn come September of this year. I hope what I've written is realistic. Finally, I realized the story jumps around so much that I decided it would be best to head up each section with the location. I hope that helps clear up any confusion!**

 **Here's a shout-out to FicreaderT for asking great questions that really got me thinking about where the story is going and even led to a last-minute addition to the chapter! Thank you, to you and all my readers and reviewers—please keep those great questions coming! Special thanks to my beta reader, katbybee, for the feedback and great suggestions that have helped make this story better, and of course to my son and my awesome hubby for listening to me read each chapter out loud multiple times, making great suggestions, and never failing to encourage me in my geeky hobby. :)**

 **Disclaimer: I know absolutely nothing about North Korean military structure, discipline, or etiquette, beyond the list of ranks I found when I googled it, and I apologize for any inaccuracies.**

* * *

 **Glossary (Hawaiian – English)**

 **Paniolo – Cowboy. [I tried to find a feminine form but couldn't; if anyone knows, please let me know and I'll fix it!]**

* * *

 **Honolulu, Hawaii**

Feeling like an intruder, Danny had finally fitted the key in the lock of Steve's front door and walked into the house for the first time since Joe brought them the news. The whole team had agreed that they had to at least try to rescue Steve, and the first step was to get a more complete story of what had happened to him. Joe, as they all knew, kept himself sealed up tighter than a drum when it came to secrets, but Catherine had been distraught over the loss and just maybe they could convince her to talk. "Doris might help too," Chin had suggested. "In fact, I'm a little surprised we haven't seen her already. Surely she's aware of the situation." Danny had nodded, but had to wonder if anyone knew where Doris was to give her the news. From what he'd heard, she wasn't exactly in the Agency's good graces after the incident in Morocco. Still, surely Joe would have told her. _Then again, maybe not,_ Danny thought, _considering everything he's kept from Steve over the years._ No matter how he looked at it, he couldn't get over his anger at Joe, even though Steve had told him it wasn't his former mentor's fault.

At last he found it, tucked in the back of a desk drawer, a slip of paper that said CR and a phone number. It might not be the right phone number, especially if she was out in the field again, but at least it was a start. Swallowing his last vestiges of reluctance, Danny pulled out his phone and dialed the number.

After the third ring, he heard a soft "Hello, Danny?" on the other end.

"Catherine, hi," he said, half-wishing she hadn't picked up. Surely they could manage this on their own. But the team hoped Catherine could at the least tell them what had happened to Steve, and at the most would use her connections to help them locate him. "Catherine, uh, are you in town? We need to talk… about us." He didn't dare say what he really meant over the phone line, but he hoped she would catch his drift.

After a few seconds of hesitation, she answered. "I suppose I knew this was coming. I'm… nearby. Can you meet me?"

"Just tell me where. Umm… somewhere private, right?"

"Of course. I know just the place. I'll text you the address."

Precisely one hour later, at 10 a.m., Danny arrived at Kualoa Ranch. He bypassed the touristy area, with its visitor center and zipline, and followed the road around to the private ranch house instead. At the gate, he asked for Sarah Martin, as Catherine's text had instructed. He was directed along a bumpy dirt road to a stable. As he pulled up, Catherine came out the stable door, looking every bit the **paniolo.** Danny raised an eyebrow at the sight of her scuffed cowgirl boots and her old cowboy hat—either her hair was pinned up under the hat or she had cut it; he wasn't sure. A badge identified her as ranch worker Sarah Martin.

She beckoned him towards a battered Ford pickup truck. "Climb in. You took the battery out of your cell phone?"

He nodded and held up the battery to show her. She had insisted in her text that he remove it before he got in his car to make the drive.

"Good. The only reason you got hold of me is that my phone is untraceable and only Steve had the number. That's how I knew it had to be you when I didn't recognize your number."

As he climbed into the truck, he wondered why she was going to such lengths. Clearly, she didn't want anyone to find her. Was she on an assignment? Or was she just lying low? He didn't ask, but hoped eventually she would satisfy his curiosity.

Catherine drove the short distance to the ranch's helipad and parked next to the office building. "There's a group of tourists coming soon for a helicopter tour, but they won't need that one," she said as she stepped out of the truck. Danny followed her gesture toward an old helicopter at the edge of the field—from a distance it looked as if it might be held together with baling wire. "Meet Frieda. Jim—my boss—built her himself in his garage 20 years ago. Says it kept him out of trouble with his wife—the original Frieda. Jim doesn't use it with the tourists and he said I could borrow it for the day. I told him an old boyfriend was coming to see me and he gave me the day off just like that. He's an old softy, reminds me of my grandfather."

"This thing flies?" Danny asked, not sure he trusted a homemade bucket of bolts enough to climb in. "And you know how to do it?"

"Of course. Frieda may not look like much, but she's perfectly safe. And I learned the same place Steve did. Get in while I do the pre-flight inspection."

With flashbacks to the terrifying rides in Frank Bama's copter, Danny nonetheless strapped himself into the passenger seat while Catherine made the requisite safety check. Finally, she climbed up next to him and soon they were in the sky. They didn't try talking while they flew—even with the headphones, the noise was too loud for effective conversation. About an hour later, she touched down at a small private helipad in Kona on the Big Island.

Their discussion waited until they had walked from the helipad to a nearby house with a private beach. Catherine produced a key from her pocket and unlocked the door, then stood aside to let Danny enter ahead of her. She pulled it closed behind them and flipped the deadbolt.

"We can talk freely here," she said. "No one will bother us. My friends own the place as a rental, but September is the off-season and they don't have anyone coming this week. I check on the house for them when they're traveling, and they say I'm free to enjoy myself here whenever it's not occupied, as long as I leave it clean."

"Nice." Danny followed her from the entry hall through the downstairs to the sliding back door and out onto the lanai. They bypassed a pool table and each took a seat at the picnic table. Danny wasn't sure where to start… courtesy dictated at least a bit of small talk, but his heart wanted to get directly to the reason for their meeting.

Catherine saved him from his deliberation by going straight to the heart of the matter. "I suppose this is about Steve. You want to know what happened and you think I can tell you."

He nodded again. "That about covers it."

"It's classified, Danny. You know what could happen if—"

"No one outside 5-0 will ever know, Catherine. You know that. All we want to do is find a way to help Steve, to bring him home. Come on… Whatever happened to 'Leave no man behind'?"

She burst out of her chair and stood over him, hands clenched into fists as her eyes filled with tears. "You think that's what I did?! You think I had a choice?!"

"I don't know what to think because you and Joe are shut up like clams about the whole thing! What I do know is this—you're here and Steve isn't!" He regretted the words the instant he said them. He could see the hurt in her eyes. He could see that she would have done anything to make sure Steve got home ok. He dropped his gaze to his hands, then looked back up at her. "I'm sorry."

She sat down again. "Don't be. You were just telling the truth."

"So, please tell _me_ the truth, Catherine. Help me to understand."

She took a deep breath before answering. Instead of meeting his eyes, she turned her chair and stared out at the ocean waves while she talked. "What I am about to say never goes further than you and me. The rest of the team doesn't need to know it. Promise me."

"All right, I promise. Just between you and me." The wobble in her voice unnerved him—everything about her emotions today unnerved him. The Catherine he knew was the epitome of confidence, cool, calm, and collected. Hardly anything got to her, ever. At least, not that she let on.

"You know all the talk in the news… about North Korea and their nuclear testing."

"Yes."

"Intelligence came through about a credible threat to Hawaii. If it succeeded, these islands would have been obliterated. Steve was tapped to lead a team into North Korea and shut down that threat, and I was part of that team. Joe didn't want him to go because he'd just recovered from the radiation poisoning and it was a big risk to expose himself again, but Steve said he couldn't live with himself if he sat back and did nothing."

She closed her eyes as she continued, and Danny imagined she was watching it all unfold again in her mind as she shared it with him. "Everything was going well. All I can tell you is, we accomplished our mission, eliminating the immediate threat and setting back their nuclear program several years. Then we slipped out and headed east through the hills to rendezvous with Joe on the coast for the exfil. He was waiting with fishing boats to take us to a submarine and get us home. We should have known it was too easy. Before we reached the coast, we came under fire. Thompson and Revier were both hit, killed immediately. I… I took a bullet in my shoulder. One of the soldiers grabbed me, but Steve…" Her voice hitched and Danny noticed a tear trickling down her cheek. "Steve fought him off and we kept on going. We were separated from the others—by the time we got to Joe, I was bleeding heavily, barely aware of what was happening. I don't really remember anything after that. I woke up in the infirmary and Joe told me Steve had waited as long as he could for Johnson and Levy. He was about to get into the second boat when a North Korean patrol took him by surprise and captured him. I was so angry, Danny. I begged and pleaded with Joe to make them go back for him. But there was absolutely nothing we could do."

Danny had listened to the whole story without a word. Now he got up and paced the length of the lanai and back, trying to think things through.

"But you're not really content to leave it at that, are you, Catherine?" he asked finally. "You'll do what you can to help us get him back, right?"

She looked up at him, and he could see the old confidence flaring in her eyes. "In a heartbeat," she said. "In fact, I've already been thinking about it. I quit the Company, but I still have sources who owe me favors, and I think I know how to get intel on where he was sent."

"What about Joe? I don't get how he's mixed up in this, being retired from the Navy, and I doubt you'll tell me… but do you think he'll help?"

She shrugged. "You're right, I can't tell you. And I can't answer whether he'll help. You're going to have to talk to him yourself about that one, but I wouldn't do it without absolute proof that Steve is alive."

"Well then, we'd better get cracking," Danny said, already heading to the door into the house. "Let's get back home."

* * *

 **Urusha, Amur Region, Russia**

Lyudmila's trip into Urusha had been put off for three days, as Orlov kept finding reasons to keep her in camp. But finally, she had gotten away. While she waited for her order to be filled at the pharmacy, she slipped into a nearby internet café. There was a cost to use the computers here, but anyone with a laptop could take advantage of the wifi signal for free. She sought out a private corner, opened her device, then inserted the mini SD card that contained the picture. She didn't know exactly how the Tor network worked, but her brother had assured her that she could use it to send him an email and no one would be able to trace it, and he had showed her exactly how to do it. She followed his instructions now, attaching the photo and writing a short message:

 _My dearest brother, this prisoner of the North Koreans was sent to our logging camp, but his file does not give his identity. I believe he is American. He was injured and has lost his memory. Can you help us find out who he is? I know you often encounter journalists, and perhaps one would be willing to help. But please, you must be discreet. Be careful. I love you. ~M._

She retrieved the SD card, shut down the computer, closed the top, and hurried back to the pharmacy, just in time to pick up her order and meet her driver for the ride back to camp.

* * *

 **Eastern Ukraine**

Sergei awoke with a shudder from a nightmare about the shelling that had landed him in the hospital just one week ago. As usual, Taras sat at his bedside. The big man had settled himself there after Sergei's surgery and refused to move until he was certain his friend would be all right. Sergei was grateful, but he did not want to talk, and thankfully Taras seemed to understand that. He yawned, torn between the desire for more sleep and the need to push the images of his last battle out of his mind.

In spite of an official cease-fire, troops on the front lines of the fighting in Eastern Ukraine were under a constant barrage of mortar fire from pro-Russian forces. _Not just pro-Russian,_ Sergei had reminded himself grimly as he and his brothers-in-arms hunkered down in the shelter of a bombed-out school building, waiting for the order to return fire. _Russian forces… my old friends among them._

The death of his Ukrainian friend Misha in a shelling attack back in May of 2015 had motivated Sergei to join the fight against the pro-Russian forces in Ukraine's eastern regions. He knew his family back home would pay the price, but his parents had taught him from childhood to follow his conscience no matter the risk. The Ukrainians were not quick to trust him, but over the last two years he had managed to gain their respect, friendship, and full acceptance. And so he found himself huddled in the ruined school with his friend Taras in the village of Sakhanka*. In a hard-fought battle six weeks before, they had helped bring this bit of land back under Ukrainian control. Heavily damaged over months of fighting, the village had long been abandoned by the human residents, but stray dogs and cats still wandered the streets. If they could continue to push the separatists back, perhaps someday the inhabitants of Sakhanka would feel safe to return and rebuild their lives.

Sergei and Taras—a poet like his namesake**—had grown accustomed to the constant thunder of the mortar rounds. With them was Mouse, who had joined their unit fresh out of training—the kid loved Ukraine, was gung-ho about fighting the invaders, and didn't have a clue what war was really like. The reality scared the spit out of him. Taras and Sergei had made a pact to look out for Mouse, accepting him into their circle like a little brother.

When the first mortar exploded about twenty yards from their position, most of the seasoned fighters moved to safety until they would receive the order to return fire—as if their machine guns could do much good against mortars. Sergei and Taras both looked at the same time for Mouse, and saw the kid on his knees, hands over his ears and frozen in terror. They leapt to their feet without a second thought and darted forward to grab him and drag him to safety. In that instant, another shell exploded no more than 10 yards away, sending a shower of dust and debris through the air. A fragment of cinderblock struck Mouse on the head, knocking him unconscious. Sergei thought he had escaped injury, but when he tried to sit up, Taras put a hand on his shoulder and told him to stay put. He looked down and only then did he realize that a large metal fragment had jammed itself into his left leg. Trying to move would only make it worse, but they could not stay where they were. Another shell could strike at any time.

Taras—often called the unit's "gentle giant"—deliberated only a few seconds before throwing Mouse over one shoulder and Sergei over the other. Dodging debris, he ran through the dark streets of Sakhanka, toward the camp and the medic's tent. Sergei remembered little of the mad dash, only a vague impression of the light of mortar blasts and burning buildings illuminating the night before darkness claimed him.

He had awakened in the hospital, Taras in the chair between his bed and Mouse's. The gentle giant sported a bandage on his forehead, but seemed otherwise unscathed. Mouse had survived, but had not yet awakened, so the extent of the damage was yet uncertain. When Sergei realized what had happened to him as a result of his injury, he had sunk into the pillows and closed his eyes. The war was over for him. He wanted it to be over, of course, but not this way. The worst of it was, even though his left leg was gone, he still felt it. It itched and burned and ached and nothing gave him relief.

Now a week had passed and Sergei still had not spoken. He reached for the phone by his bed, hopeful maybe he would have heard from someone back home. They didn't know what had happened yet, and he wasn't about to tell them, but he just longed to hear from them. He powered on the phone and pulled up his email, managing a faint smile when he saw something from Mila. He touched it and read the note, his brow furrowing as he looked carefully at the photograph. The simple request did something in him that all the encouragement from Taras and the doctor had not managed to accomplish—it gave him a sense of purpose, and that renewed his hope. Here was something he could do, someone he could help. He reached to grasp his friend's arm. "Taras," he said, "remember that journalist… the American? He wanted to interview a wounded soldier. Is he still in camp?"

Taras' eyes grew big and he welcomed Sergei's words with a wide grin. "Yes, brother! Yes, he is still in camp!"

"Bring him here, please. Tell him I will talk with him."

He didn't have to ask twice. Taras was on his feet in an instant, darting out the door. Sergei adjusted his pillows and looked at the email again. For the first time all week, the phantom pains had stopped troubling him.

* * *

 **Logging Camp near Urusha**

At last the morning came when Lieutenant Kim removed the cuffs from Imyarek's wrists and ankles. He had done his work without complaint and made no sign of plans to do anything else. When his hands were free, he had bowed low as a sign of thanks and respect, and then he had gone to work as was expected of him.

Ji and Suk had continued their discussion of making an escape. Apparently, an underground railroad of sorts operated here, to get workers who wanted out away from the camps and help them set up new lives in cities like Moscow. Imyarek had no wish to go to Moscow, but he hoped he could get out of Russia and somehow figure out where home was. He'd heard Doctor Ivanova say she thought he was American, and it felt right, but he couldn't be sure.

"Be ready to go tonight," he suddenly heard Ji say to his friend. "They will be waiting for us."

"Take me with you," Imyarek said quietly in Korean, the first words he had uttered to his fellow workers. They whirled around and looked at him, eyes wide with astonishment. "Take me with you," he repeated, just a little louder this time.

They just stared for a moment, then Ji gave a slow nod. "Yes," he said. "Yes, you come with us. We leave at midnight."

* * *

 **Pyongyang, North Korea**

"Who authorized this?!" Vice Marshal Tang thundered as he looked over the paperwork. "This prisoner was scheduled for execution! Where is he now?!"

Captain Sung trembled in his boots. "I cannot answer, Vice Marshal," he confessed. Heads would roll over this, he knew, and his was likely to be one of them, even though he'd had nothing to do with the disappearance of a certain American prisoner, who had been captured after committing sabotage at a missile launch pad in the north of the country, destroying years of work. Of course, he had not offered them his name. Even under torture, he had refused to give them anything, but they had done their research and eventually discovered exactly who he was—Lieutenant Commander Steven McGarrett of the US Navy, a spy and enemy of the people, responsible for many deaths in the Democratic People's Republic of Korea.

"Find out, and get him back here!" his superior snapped. "Perhaps you will save your skin if you do. Our Dear Leader wants to make an example of this man."

"Yes, Sir." Sung bowed respectfully, then backed away from the Vice Marshal. "I will find him, Sir."

"See that you do," the vice marshal barked, then turned on his heel and stalked away.

* * *

 ***The Ukrainian town of Sakhanka is currently under the control of pro-Russian forces. Thinking ahead to September of this year, when the story is set, I figured I would let the Ukrainian forces get it back.**

 ****Taras Shevchenko (1814-1861) was a Ukrainian poet and folklorist who is revered to this day. The five months that my family lived in Kyiv, Ukraine, we lived very close to the park that bears his name and passed by his statue almost daily. In 1847, he was convicted by Imperial Russia for writing in the Ukrainian language and promoting the independence of Ukraine (he also mocked the Tsar's wife, which didn't help his case any). In the current day, he is a symbol of Ukrainian patriotism and it made sense to me that a Ukrainian soldier who is also a poet would be nicknamed Taras.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Before I started writing this story, I had no idea that feelings about Catherine ran so deep in this fandom. It seems that fans either love her or hate her. I don't fall on either side. While I liked Catherine in the beginning, after she clearly couldn't stay put, I got to thinking Steve needed a new relationship with someone who wouldn't keep leaving him. I don't make any promises about what will happen as the story unfolds (because I know plans can change in a heartbeat when stubborn characters insist on their own way), but I will tell you that I have no intention of making this a romance story for Steve. Thank you to those who are willing to stick with the story, even though it might not go the way you would choose.**

 **Sergei, meanwhile, is driving me nuts. I keep telling him he's a bit player and he keeps trying to steal the show. I may have to promise him a sequel once we've got everyone else where they are supposed to be, just to make him happy.**

 **FicreaderT, you got me thinking again, this time about how much time has elapsed since the story began. I have not done a good job of showing that, and I'm trying to remedy that with this chapter. I may also go back and make some minor edits in previous chapters to give a better sense of the passage of time.**

 **Thank you to all my readers and reviewers! I love reading your messages and I try to respond to everyone. Thank you also to my awesome beta reader, KatBybee, who has been a real source of encouragement to me, and to my husband and son, who have listened to every word and helped me with research and ideas.**

 **I'm not sure when the next chapter will be posted** — **I have a daughter getting married in a few days and then I leave for Ukraine a week from today. I'll be working two different youth camps that will keep me very busy, so I may not be able to post again till I get home in early July.**

* * *

 **Glossary [Ukrainian (U) – English, Russian (R) – English)]**

 **Dobryy den', pani. (U)** **–** Good day, Madame.

 **Privit. (U) –** Hello

 **Pryyemno poznaiomytysia. (U) –** It's a pleasure to meet you.

 **Mene zvaty (U) –** My name is

 **Khorosho (R) –** Good

* * *

Imyarek sat in a dark gully with Ji and Suk, waiting for their contact. Slightly south of their hiding place ran an east-west highway. While he was glad to put the logging camp behind him, he regretted not thanking Dr. Ivanova for her kindness. Even after he'd been released from the infirmary to work, she had taken time each day to check his progress toward healing, always sneaking him some extra food as well—a bowl of borscht or some potatoes and once even some delicious apple pastries.

She never seemed completely satisfied with his physical progress, and to tell the truth, neither was Imyarek. While he still could not remember any personal details before waking up in that bed, he knew that things should be different. His left arm was no longer encased in a heavy cast, but he could not straighten or extend his wrist and fingers. The fingers simply crabbed inward, numb and useless. Neither had his vision improved. He still had to squint to make sense of anything further than a few feet away. What's more, just yesterday he had found himself drawn to a map hanging over the doctors' desk, but discovered he could not make his eyes focus on the words, which seemed to skip and jump around the paper. The blurred vision did not bother him nearly as much as this inability to focus—after all, he could use his other senses to know what was happening around him. But without focus, he was rendered unable to read. When he had asked Dr. Ivanova about all these problems, she had clucked and apologized, explaining that he needed more advanced care than she could give him here, and that it was quite possible that surgery, both on his brain and on his arm, would allow him a complete recovery. The surgery was impossible here, and this was one reason Imyarek felt driven to escape.

But something had gone wrong. The contact who had been supposed to wait for them outside the camp had never showed up. They had snuck out of their barracks shortly after 2300 hours and made their way through the shadows to the edge of camp and beyond the wire fencing. Ji had bribed a sympathetic guard to look the other way, offering a bottle of rot-gut vodka that Imyarek had appropriated from Dr. Orlov's lab-coat pocket. Now they had waited here for hours, all for nothing.

"No one is coming," Imyarek told the two men who waited with him, keeping his voice low. "We're going to have to do this on our own. We can't afford to wait any longer." Their absence should not be noticed until morning roll call, and they needed to be as far away as they could by then.

Suk swore under his breath. "How can we do this?! We have no food, no money, and we don't know where to go! The guides were supposed to take us to the safe house, and on to Moscow."

"We can hunt for our food. And we don't need a safe house or guides," Imyarek explained patiently. "I have an idea where we are and we don't really want to go to Moscow, do we? If you get caught, Moscow will send you back to North Korea without a second thought. Ji's wife and daughter are in China, if what Chul-Gun told him is correct. Ji said himself they would not stay there, but try to get to Mongolia. That's where we need to go."

Ji listened to the exchange silently, then offered his opinion. "Imyarek is right. We should listen to him." Suk started to protest, but Ji cut him off. "Yes, I know we only let him come because we were afraid he would betray us. But I think he can be of help. There is more to this man than meets the eye. We will hear him. If you do not agree, Suk, then you can go back to the camp and take your chances there."

Grudgingly, Suk agreed to the new plan. The three men crept out of the gully and set off, following the road west. No one noticed the figure that slinked after them in the shadows.

* * *

Sergei was sitting up in bed, the sheet pulled up to his waist and a couple of pillows behind his head. Taras had helped him bathe and pull on a clean new shirt, giving him a semblance of normalcy as they waited for the journalist to arrive _._ The first correspondent they had met, only a day ago, had turned out to be a slimy fellow, eager to use the plight of soldiers like Sergei as ammunition against Ukraine, and Sergei had refused to speak with him after all.

Today, a different journalist was coming, a certain Alex Murphy of the _Los Angeles Herald._ Taras and Sergei had both researched a bit before agreeing to give the man an interview. From translations they had found online, his articles were fair and well-balanced, and he had a reputation for being highly ethical. At precisely 1500 hours, a knock sounded at the door. When Taras opened it and the visitor stepped into the dingy hospital room, Sergei's jaw dropped almost to his chest.

Taras, ever the gentleman, gave a slight bow, and stretched out a big paw of a hand. "Dobryy den', pani," he said in his native Ukrainian, then blushed as he carefully translated into English. "Good day, madam."

The young woman smiled and laughed as she pressed her small hand into that of the burly soldier, then responded in apparently effortless Ukrainian. "Privit. Pryyemno poznaiomytysia. Mene zvaty Alex Murphy. I speak both Ukrainian and Russian."

Sergei's mother tongue was Russian, but after two years fighting for Ukraine, he had learned Ukrainian fairly well (Taras had insisted on it). At the moment, though, he could not think of a single word in either language. Instead, he just stared, his mouth open. Alex Murphy was not pretty in the traditional sense, but her face was captivating. While most of her hair was pulled back and out of Sergei's sight, several wavy tendrils had escaped confinement to hang in burnished red corkscrews on either side of her face, leaving him with the impression that if her locks were let down, they would be an absolute riot of curls. He wondered whether kids at school had teased her for the liberal spattering of freckles across her face. Children could be cruel—he remembered it well.

Suddenly Sergei realized he had been staring at Alex for much longer than was proper, and he attempted an introduction. "C… Call me… Fox," he stammered, giving his call sign instead of his name. "And please… no photographs." While he knew that his government was aware he had joined the Ukrainian army, he did not want his real name or likeness to appear in any news report that might bring additional recriminations on his family.

She nodded amiably, switching with ease to the Russian he had used. "I understand, Fox. Your captain explained it to me." She held up her hands to display what she had brought in with her. "I have a notebook and pen. No camera, not even a voice recorder. Before I file my story, I will let you read it and I will make any changes you request to ensure accuracy. I promise you, Fox, you are in good hands." She moved towards the chair Taras had vacated and sat beside her subject. "Thank you for letting me interview you," she said. "I have not met many Russians fighting on the Ukrainian side, and I am very interested in why you made this choice."

Sergei chewed at the inside of his lip as he contemplated her words. From the sound of it, her reputation was well-earned, and when he looked into her eyes he saw only truth there. With a long inhale, he made up his mind that he would trust her. "I will answer your questions, but first I have a request for you. Before I ask, you must promise me that this will not become a story for your newspapers… at least, not yet, not until the person you might be helping can give his approval."

Murphy wrinkled her brow. "I can't promise I can help anyone," she said. "But I will listen, and anything you say to me is confidential unless you give me permission to make it public."

"Khorosho," Sergei said with a nod. "I will trust you, Miss Murphy."

"Alex," she corrected. "And I hope that I can help."

Sergei gestured for Taras to hand him his laptop. While he started it up and opened his email, he began telling the story. "My sister is in eastern Russia, working as a doctor in a logging camp in the Amur region. She lost her practice in St. Petersburg because of my choices and was sent there as a punishment. The camp is for North Korean workers. But recently, an injured prisoner was sent to them, a man who is clearly not Korean. His file had no information on his identity, and he cannot remember. My sister believes he is an American and she wants to help find out who he is and where he is from. Can you help with this, Miss Murphy?" He turned the computer to show the man's picture to his guest.

She leaned in close and stared at the picture, her brow furrowed, then leaned back again and met Sergei's eyes with her own. "Will you send me this picture, Fox?" she asked. "I will do my best to help." When he agreed, she rattled off her email address and they settled in for Sergei's promised interview.

* * *

Later that evening, Alex sat in a hotel room in Zaporizhia, staring at the photograph Fox had sent her. It couldn't be, could it? She had covered the man's memorial service almost two months ago, and the email from Fox's sister was dated only a few days ago. How did a man killed in a climbing accident in the French Alps end up in a North Korean logging camp in eastern Russia? She shook her head. _You know exactly how it happened, Alex… he was a Navy SEAL, for goodness' sake. He must have been on a mission that went wrong and his own government disavowed him. They thought there was no way to get him back alive. And now, if he does come back, they will face uncomfortable questions they might not want to answer. Bringing him home will spell trouble for him… and trouble for you._

She heaved a frustrated sigh. While this could end up being the scoop of a lifetime, she stood to lose a great deal if she got involved. She had worked hard to get where she was, earning respect as a woman in the male-dominated field of journalism—especially as a war correspondent—and she didn't want to give that up. But if she didn't get involved and help Steve McGarrett get home to the care he needed? Well, then she would lose her self-respect, and that would be worse than anything. So she had booked the first flight home to Honolulu tomorrow. She pulled up her list of potential resources and found one Danny Williams, Detective, Five-0, listed with an email address, and began writing him a note. She would not send the picture… not yet. She preferred to show him that when they were face-to-face. _Dear Detective Williams,_ she wrote. _My name is Alex Murphy and I am a journalist for the_ Los Angeles Herald. _I have important information on a case you are following. I will arrive at Honolulu Airport at 4:00 p.m., September 18, on Aloha Air, flight 838 from Los Angeles. Please meet me—it is crucial that I speak with you as soon as possible. Thank you._ She clicked "send," then turned off the laptop and began packing her things for the long journey ahead.

* * *

Danny rubbed his neck in exasperation and drummed his fingers on the desk. He and Catherine were back at the house in Kona, working through her contacts and hoping to find some encouraging news. "Anything yet, Catherine?" he asked.

She grimaced as she looked up from her laptop. "The most I can establish is what Joe already said—Steve was moved out of Kwaechon, and no one seems to know where. But according to the chatter, the North Koreans are looking for him too—they intended to execute him for espionage, but apparently he is no longer in the country and they are trying to get him back."

Danny dropped the papers he was riffling through and stared at Catherine in shock. "How is that possible? Do you think he escaped?"

She threw up her hands. "How could he have?! But I don't know how else to explain it. It's like he dropped off the face of the earth." She stowed her laptop in its case and gathered her things. "I need to head back to the ranch. Will you be ready to go soon?"

Danny sighed. It seemed like each day, Catherine lost hope a little sooner. Arguing with her wouldn't help, but he would have to find a way to keep searching on his own in case she quit on him altogether. He wished he had the sources she and Steve had. "Fine," he said. "I just need to take a quick look through my email before we head out." He opened the program and glanced through the list of new messages. Most could be ignored, but one was marked urgent, a message from an Alex Murphy. The name was somewhat familiar, but he couldn't quite place how he knew it. The subject line read, "Meeting requested—Important Case." Though he had no interest in getting himself involved in anything new, he clicked to open and read it.

"A journalist, go figure," he scoffed, shaking his head with disdain. He immediately discounted the "important information" bait this Murphy guy had dangled, hoping to land his catch. Danny was certain he just wanted to ask questions, trying for a scoop on some case in the works. Well, he could just push this off to Duke. HPD had taken over all of 5-0's cases while they were on temporary leave, and HPD could certainly handle a nosy reporter. He clicked "forward" and typed a quick message to Duke. _Hi, Duke. Could you take care of this guy please? I don't know what case he's talking about, but everything on my desk got sent your way. Thanks, Danny._

Message sent, he logged off and put the journalist out of his mind completely. "Nothing important there," he said, and turned off the computer. "Let's get going."


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: I'm safely home from Ukraine now. The camps were awesome but exhausting. I loved connecting with the kids over English lessons and their various projects. Our first camp was supposed to be for teenagers, but we didn't turn anyone away—we started the week with about 20 kids and by day 4 we had over 60 from ages 5 through 16. Anyway, now I expect it will take me about a week to work through the jet lag and get back to a somewhat normal schedule. Today, I woke up about 4 a.m. to find a new review (thanks, Southerncross1!), and that inspired me to get up and get writing.**

 **The first scene is dedicated to my awesome Beta reader, Katbybee, who suggested it. It was a lot of fun to write! Thank you, Kat! Thanks also to my wonderful husband, who woke up about 8:00 and let me read the chapter out loud to him with only a minimum of good-natured grumbling.**

* * *

The grizzled old sailor slammed his glass down on the polished koa-wood bar. "Barkeep, anuzzer," he slurred.

"I'm cutting you off, brah," the native Hawaiian behind the bar demurred as he gathered up empty glasses and then swept a damp rag across the bar's surface. "It's closing time."

"C'mon, Miko," the drunk man protested. "Y' know I know a wozen days… er… diz… er… dozen ways to kill you and make it look like 'n accident. Jus' give me one for th' road."

"No road for you, brah." Miko had pocketed his old friend's car keys several rounds ago.

Over the past couple of months, the retired Navy SEAL had become a fixture in Miko's bar, spending most evenings drowning his sorrows in Jack Daniels. Miko had tried to get him to talk, but he had steadfastly refused, his Navy training withstanding even the effects of the potent liquor.

Now the bar was empty except for the two men, and Miko thought perhaps this time he could help his friend confront whatever demons haunted him. He rested his elbows on the bar across from the man and looked into his eyes.

"Come on, Joe," he said softly, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Whatever it is, you know it's safe to tell me."

Joe eyed his empty snifter, his right hand wrapped around it in a vice grip. As he wrenched his shoulder free, he averted his eyes from Miko's steady gaze. "No man lef' behind," he mumbled. "Like a son t' me…"

Miko sensed it was best to back off, so he busied himself cleaning the bar. If Joe thought he was listening, he would sure as hell clam up tight. But if he didn't press, his old friend just might keep talking.

"Should'a gone affer 'im," Joe growled, and he pounded his snifter on the bar again, then shifted in his seat.

"Couldn't 'a gone," he countered. "No choice. Fool's mission… boy was good as dead soon as they got their claws in 'im. C'mon, Miko… gimme a rum."

Miko stood at the sink, washing out glasses and stacking them as he listened, ignoring the plea for another drink. He kept his face impassive, but inwardly wondered who Joe was talking about. It had to be McGarret—the timing couldn't be a coincidence, and Joe did feel like a father to the younger man. But according to Joe, McGarrett had died in a climbing accident. Then again, it could well have been a cover. Miko suspected his supposedly retired friend was still involved in all manner of clandestine activities. By his own admission, Joe White was not a man who knew how to relax.

"If there was any chance at all… should'a taken it. Should'a tried. He'd'a risked his life for me… Why'n't I risk mine for 'im?"

Miko snuck a glance out of the corner of his eye and saw Joe give his head a fierce shake.

"No use us both dyin'… an' he wanted her safe… Tried to find 'im after… I did… 'E jus' flat out disappeared… An' I'm a damned coward ta let it happen."

Miko felt the time had come to intervene in this one-man argument. He moved back to face Joe across the bar. "Joe," he said quietly. His friend looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. "You cannot change the past. You can only decide what to do with the present. A poet once said, 'Courage is fear that has said its prayers.'* So stop drinking, say your prayers, and do what you need to do." He gently pried Joe's fingers away from the snifter, which he placed in the sink; then he walked around the bar and put an arm around Joe's shoulders. "Come on, old friend. I'll take you home."

* * *

Just over 24 hours after boarding her flight in Zaporizhia, Alex Murphy stepped into the main terminal in Honolulu. Though she had not slept particularly well on the plane, travel always energized her, and she was eager for her meeting with Detective Williams. She ducked into a restroom to freshen up a bit, then made her way out of the secured area. A crowd gathered around, waiting to greet friends and family as they emerged. Her eye roamed the crowd, looking for Danny Williams. She was fairly sure she would recognize him after seeing him at the memorial service, but soon she admitted with disappointment that he was not here. Then her eye landed on a uniformed police officer holding a sign that read "Alex Murphy." Williams must have been on a case, she thought, unable to get away. She raised a hand to wave at the officer—a sergeant she now realized as she drew closer—and as always was amused at his surprised reaction when he saw her.

Thanks to her name, she had grown accustomed to such reactions. Perhaps she should have used her formal name, Alexandra, but she had learned early on that "Alex" garnered more respect and seemed to open doors that would have been closed to her otherwise.

"Hello," she said, sticking out a hand for a shake. "I'm Alex Murphy."

"Sergeant Duke Lukela," he answered, his welcome warm and sincere as he shook her hand. "Do you have luggage to pick up?"

"This is it," she said, indicating her wheeled carry-on and the backpack. "I like to travel light." She'd retrieved her laptop after going through Customs in LA and returned it to its rightful place in her backpack, grateful to have it with her again. Traveling to the States through Istanbul had made her subject to the laptop ban, a nuisance, but an inconvenience she supposed she could live with.

"Come on, then," Duke said. "I'll take you to my car. We can talk there, or we can wait till we get to the station, whichever you prefer."

She stopped and looked up at him. "Wait. I came here to talk with Danny Williams. The information I have is for his ears only."

Duke frowned. "Detective Williams and his team are on an extended period of leave. All their cases were sent to HPD. He asked me to handle your request."

"Sergeant Lukela, please… it is vital that I speak with Detective Williams. I… I am certain he will be glad to hear what I have to tell him." Cursing herself inwardly for the manipulative move, she opened her green eyes wide and then allowed her eyelashes just a slight flutter.

She could see the wheels turning in the Sergeant's mind, and she could see the moment that he relented before he even spoke. The corners of his mouth lifted in a sheepish grin as he grabbed hold of her carry-on. "All right then," he conceded, "I'll give him a call from the car."

* * *

Danny had just settled down on Steve's lanai for a short break. Shortly after returning from the Big Island, he had been called into the governor's office for a meeting. She was seriously considering disbanding 5-0 altogether, now that they no longer had Steve to lead them. Frankly, he didn't really care. He wasn't sure he had the heart for this business anymore, especially without his partner. Maybe it was time to retire from police work and open that restaurant he'd been dreaming about… _Steve's._ He chuckled softly. Maybe it wasn't such a bad name after all.

He popped the lid off a bottle of ibuprofen—he had learned to keep it at hand lately—and shook four tablets into his palm. His head ached from the hours of combing through his friend's papers, looking for something that might be able to help. If he could just find the right contact, he thought, everything else would fall into place. But he had found nothing. Before he could down the pills, his phone chirped at him. Yawning, he grabbed the device from the side table and looked to see who was calling. _Duke,_ he thought. _I wonder what's up_. He swiped his thumb across the screen to answer, then moved the phone to his ear. "Hello, Duke. What can I do for you?"

"You can tell me where to find you, Danny. Alex Murphy insists on speaking only with you. She says you'll be glad to hear what she's got to say."

"She? Oh… the reporter." He furrowed his brow and rubbed at his neck. Blasted headache had made its way down there now. With a long sigh, he finally acquiesced, though he was sure he'd regret it. "Fine. I'm at Steve's. Bring her around back to the lanai." He wasn't about to parade a stranger through his friend's house, but he didn't want to drive anywhere else until his headache subsided, so the lanai would have to do.

"Be there in about half an hour," Duke promised.

Danny glanced around, briefly gauging whether the lanai was in acceptable condition for a guest. He gathered up the empty beer bottles left from a recent 5-0 gathering and stowed them for recycling, then carried the box of papers he'd been working through most recently into the house and set it on the kitchen table. Outside again, he continued straightening up until he heard Duke's car in the driveway.

Barely a minute later, Duke came around the back of the house with a young woman in tow. Danny thought maybe he had seen her before. Her eyes sparked with life, but otherwise she looked tired and her clothes were more rumpled than Danny would have expected after a flight from Los Angeles. _Must not have started there,_ he mused. He stepped forward and held out a hand. "Good afternoon. I'm Detective Danny Williams."

She offered him a tired smile as she accepted the handshake. "Alex Murphy, _Los Angeles Herald._ Thanks for seeing me."

Danny gestured to a chair at the picnic table. "Have a seat?"

"Sure," she said.

Duke moved to pull out the chair for her, but then the radio on his belt crackled. _Code 10-67A, Kalanianaole Highway at Hind._ The address was just around the corner, so Duke answered the call, casting an apologetic glance at Danny.

"I'll get her where she needs to go. Thanks, Duke," Danny said, waving him away.

When Duke had jogged back around the house, Danny took a seat across from the journalist. "I'm sure Duke told you, the task force is on indefinite leave." _Might not even exist a week from now,_ he thought, but kept it quiet. He wasn't about to give that tidbit to a reporter. "I'm afraid I can't help you with your story."

She leaned across the table and looked directly into his eyes. "Detective Williams, I'm not here to get a story. Maybe someday, this will be something I can write about, but not now."

"All right then, why are you here?"

"Detective, about two months ago, I heard you give the eulogy at Steve McGarrett's memorial service."

"That's why you look familiar—you were with the press covering it."

"Yes. I requested an interview then, but you declined." She turned on her tablet and pulled up her email. "Two days ago, I was in eastern Ukraine, interviewing injured soldiers. Imagine my surprise when one of them showed me this." She opened the email Fox had forwarded from his sister and pushed the tablet toward the detective.

"Th… that's Steve?!" Danny felt as if the earth had lurched to a sudden stop.

"Exactly," the journalist affirmed. "It wasn't hard to recognize him after seeing his photograph at the service."

Danny looked up at her after reading the email that went with the picture. "You know where this logging camp is?"

"According to my source, somewhere in Russia's Amur Oblast. There are several such camps there. I did not tell him I knew who the man in the picture was—I figured I should meet with you first."

His headache and his reserve completely forgotten, Danny practically crowed. "Thank you! We've been trying to figure out where to look for him for weeks now, and you've just dropped it all in my lap! Thank you! You'll put me in touch with this source, right?" Without waiting for an answer, he pulled out his phone and dialed Chin. When his friend answered, Danny didn't bother with the usual trivialities. "Chin, get over to Steve's right now. Bring Kono, Jerry, and Lou." After the call disconnected, his finger hovered over the screen as he considered whether to call Catherine as well. Instead he exited call mode and set the phone back on the table. He would text her later.

Murphy just watched, a bemused grin on her face. "I take it, then, your team knew McGarrett hadn't really died in a climbing accident in the Alps?"

"5-0 knew," Danny confirmed, "but we couldn't say anything, and I can't give you any details." He pulled her tablet close again and reread the email, his brow creasing with a mixture of concern and elation. "Injured… lost memory…," he murmured. "Steven, you big idiot, you really are a trouble magnet, aren't you?"

* * *

At that moment, the "trouble magnet" himself was trudging through the trees that lined the R-297 highway, as the sun reached its zenith above him. The three companions had set a goal of walking at least 20 miles a day. Ji walked in front, serving as guide to Imyarek, who kept a hand on the Korean's shoulder. Suk brought up the rear.

Thanks to Suk's wide knowledge of edible plants, they had managed to stave off hunger as they traveled, but now Imyarek's stomach was growling. They needed something more than roots and leaves to eat. He squeezed Ji's shoulder to signal a stop. "We need a rest and some real food," he said. "Ji, help me get settled, then go find me a stout stick. Suk, gather kindling."

With Ji's assistance, Imyarek lowered himself to sit on a fallen log, then the two Korean men scrambled to do as they were bid. Since leaving the camp, Imyarek had naturally settled into the role of leader, and neither of his companions had contested him. Now that he had a moment to think, he let himself wonder why being in the lead just seemed right to him. _Who am I, really?_ he thought. Hazy memories danced on the edge of his awareness, but he could not call any of them into clearer focus, any more than he could make the world around him appear sharp and crisp to his eyes.

He blinked hard, wishing his damned vision would clear. Giving orders while others did most of the work grated on him. Not that he minded giving orders—he just wanted to be working as hard as his men did. But given his compromised vision, he knew that if he were up trying to work, he would just take Ji or Suk away from what they needed to do. He had no choice but to sit here and wait and think.

A rustle of movement alerted him to Ji's return, and the distraction flooded him with relief. "Is this what you wanted?" the Korean asked, holding a long, straight tree limb close enough that Imyarek could see it.

Imyarek grinned. Finally, something he could do. "Looks good. You have the pocket knife?" He took the branch and hefted it. The weight seemed just right.

Ji felt in his pocket for the treasured item while Imyarek braced the branch between his legs. If he could whittle an end to a sharp point, they would have a spear for hunting.

"I'll work on this," he said. "You help Suk gather kindling. We need a fire." Ji bowed his head in respect and then joined Suk.

* * *

 ***I heard the line "Courage is fear that has said its prayers" with no attribution while watching a movie on the first leg of my journey to Ukraine. Intrigued, and intent on using the line in my story, I wrote it down to look up as soon as I had internet again. Like many sayings, this one has been misattributed to a wide variety of authors and speakers, but during my layover in Frankfurt, I found the source. It comes from this poem by Karle Wilson Baker (1860-1936): "COURAGE is armor/A blind man wears,/The calloused scar/Of outlived despairs:/Courage is Fear/That has said its prayers."**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Please accept my apologies for the length of time between chapters! My characters from my Emergency story, Stirring the Ashes of Memory, suddenly began talking to me again, and so I wrote several chapters for them. I also wrote a neat little one-shot for the Emergency fandom, inspired by the solar eclipse back in August. If you'd like to check it out, it's entitled Legends and Light. Meanwhile, I've also been busy with the first month and a half of school, trying to regain that precarious balance between my responsibilities as a teacher and my writing.**

 **Arnie100, I think you'll appreciate a particular part of this chapter - you'll know what I mean when you get there.**

 **Thank you to all my readers who have been patient as they waited for this chapter - I appreciate you all more than you can know. In particular, thanks go to my beta reader, Katbybee, who continues to be a huge encouragement and a source of inspiration as this story takes shape.**

 **Just in case there is interest, the Vice News story mentioned by Jerry is real. I found it not long after I started dreaming up this story. It's in seven parts and you can find it on youtube with the search terms "North Korean Labor Camps" and "Vice News." I personally found it fascinating. Now, without further ado... enjoy!**

* * *

Head pounding, Joe White sat in his truck, clutching the steering wheel until his fingers turned stark white. Part of him thought the harder he pressed, the more likely he was to drive the pain away. Miko had stayed at his apartment overnight, devoting himself to pouring every bottle of liquor he could find down the drain. He even found the bottle of Laphroaig Joe kept hidden under the bathroom sink. When Joe had awakened mid-morning, hungover but no longer drunk, Miko had driven him back to the bar to get his vehicle.

Before handing over the keys, Miko had opened the passenger door and reached into the glove compartment. He shook his head as he pulled out a silver flask, and then caught his friend's eyes with his own. "Remember what courage is, Joe. Say your prayers and do the right thing. Face your demons… defeat them. Then come back here and we will drink together in celebration." He held up the flask. "I'll save this for you. Now get out of here." With that, he closed the door, tossed Joe the keys, and walked into his bar.

After that, Joe spent the day driving around the city. He'd driven past the Palace a few times, but he knew 5-0 wasn't there these days. Their extended leave had been well-publicized, and every journalist on the island had an opinion on whether the governor's task force would crumble without Steve McGarrett there to lead it.

Now it was early evening. Joe's stomach was growling, reminding him that he had not stopped to eat since the breakfast Miko had forced on him. He hadn't been eating well lately, but hardly noticed hunger when he was drunk. What he wouldn't give for a Scotch right now… hell, he'd even settle for a Longboard if he couldn't get the hard stuff.

He had parked about half a block down from Steve's house around 10 minutes ago, just in time to see Chin Ho Kelly drive up with Kono and Jerry, and then Lou Grover arrive a few minutes later. He watched them walk down the driveway and around the back of Steve's house. Apparently, they hadn't recognized his truck. Joe scoffed. Steve never would have missed it—Joe had trained him too well for that.

 _So, are you going to be a coward and stay out here all evening, or are you going to say your prayers and do what you need to do?_ He shook his head in a futile attempt to drive out the echo of Miko's voice.

He had just begun to push his door open when he saw Danny Williams stalking toward him. _Guess they recognized me after all… figures… I trained Steve and Steve trained them._ Unlike Steve, Danny wore all his emotions on his face, plain for everyone to see. Right now, that face was like a thundercloud, with lightning flashing in his blue eyes. His face said Joe had better watch out. Joe knew Danny didn't care how many ways the former Navy SEAL knew how to kill him. All he cared about was that when it really mattered, Joe had abandoned Steve, and that one fact was something Danny would never, ever forgive.

 _Well, can't exactly blame him for that,_ Joe admitted silently. _It's not like I've forgiven myself._ Like Steve, though, he kept his emotions out of his expression and hid them deep. Only Miko had seen them, and that was only when he was plastered. He wasn't plastered now. He pushed the door open, stepped out, and walked around the car to meet Danny on the sidewalk. The two men faced off—the older one stoic, straight, and silent, the younger with his arms crossed over his chest, silently seething, blue eyes flashing.

Joe didn't let the silence linger for long. "Go ahead, Danny. Just do it. I know you want to. It'll make you feel better."

"What are you talking about? I just want you to leave."

Joe could hear the tension in Danny's voice, could see his fists clench and unclench. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. Just do it—punch me. It isn't like I don't deserve it. Get it out of the way and then we can figure out what to do." In case of nosy neighbors, he did not speak Steve's name, but he figured Danny would catch his drift.

"Oh, _now_ you're ready to do something?! You didn't seem to care a couple months ago when you turned tail and ran!" And then he finally did it—his fingers clenched and his fist flew, catching Joe right in the gut and knocking the air out of him.

He could have tightened his stomach muscles and angled his body to let the blow glance off him—such a defensive move had long been ingrained in him, but this time he suppressed his training and took the hit full on. The power of Danny's punch sent him reeling several steps backward before sinking him to his knees in the neighbor's yard. His vision greyed around the edges and he fought to catch his breath.

A minute later, he felt Danny's hand lifting him to his feet. "You were right. That did make me feel better." Joe blinked his eyes and his vision cleared. Yeah, Danny sure sounded more relaxed, and his color was better.

"Me too," Joe wheezed. "I had it coming." He clapped Danny on the back. "Come on, son. I'm ready to tell you everything. Once this is all over and our friend is home safe, then you can go back to hating my guts."

* * *

When they came around to the lanai, Joe stopped short and grabbed Danny's arm. "I recognize that woman." He nodded his chin toward Alex. "A journalist… one of the good ones, but why are you talking to her?"

"She came to me, Joe. And you'll want to hear what the news she brought. I believe we can trust her." Danny propelled the gruff ex-SEAL to the chairs around the table and pointed Joe to the empty place next to Lou, then sat himself beside Alex. Chin, Jerry, and Kono occupied the remaining chairs.

Grover raised an eyebrow. Danny noticed that he refrained from acknowledging Joe. "Now that we're all here, Williams, will you tell us why you called us together?"

Danny waved a hand toward their ginger-haired guest. The news about Steve was busting to get out of him, but he wanted to time it right. "Let me introduce Alex Murphy. She's a journalist and she asked to meet with me today, and I think you'll all take interest in the information she has. Alex?"

The journalist opened her laptop. Before she could speak, though, the news came tumbling out of Danny. "Steve's alive and we know where he is… well… at least we have an idea where he is—and it's not in North Korea."

After a few seconds of shocked silence, an excited rumble of voices filled the lanai. Danny watched as the team reacted to the news. Ever the skeptic, Grover was shaking his head and muttering, "I don't believe it. I just don't believe it," but a small smile played on his lips and Danny detected a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

Kono, on the other hand, was out of her seat, eyes shining with tears. "Well let's have it, Danny… tell us where he is so we can go bring him home!" Something in Chin's face reminded him of when Sarah had been kidnapped—a mixture of danger and grim determination.

Jerry already had his smartphone out and was looking up something. Danny could barely make out his muttered theorizing. "I'll just bet they sent him to the Siberian gulag... those camps still exist you know… No one would expect to find him there. That has to be it!"

Danny glanced at Alex to see whether she'd heard. She was staring at Jerry. Danny chuckled. "Open your mouth any further and you're liable to whack your chin on the table."

"But…. But... how?"

"That's Jerry… our resident conspiracy theorist," Danny explained.

"Hey! There's a lot more to me than just conspiracies, you know!" Danny felt a little guilty over the hurt radiating from Jerry's eyes, but he was also pleased. This was the first time since they lost Steve that Jerry had gotten excited about anything. "I've actually read about these logging camps in Russia, and all the workers are North Koreans. Vice News did a story on it. I can't believe I didn't think about it till now! That's gotta be it!"

"Well, you're pretty close." Alex turned her laptop around to display Steve's photograph. "He's actually in the Amur Oblast of Russia, but some people use the term Siberia to cover that region as well." She repeated the story of her interview with Fox and his request that she investigate his sister's email.

While the journalist was still talking, Kono got to her feet and tugged at Chin. "C'mon, Cuz! Let's go get our bags. Danny, you'll take care of booking the flight?" When he looked back at her, brow wrinkled, her eyes widened. "We are going after him, right?"

"Umm… of course." Danny didn't mean to sound hesitant. This was, after all, what he wanted. Hadn't he packed his bag before they even had the memorial service, just so he could leave at a moment's notice? "Yeah, definitely—I'll get us on the next flight."

"You don't have to book anything." Until now, Joe had kept quiet, but his words caught everyone's attention. "I've got a friend with a plane who'll fly us anywhere we need to go."

"Ukraine first," Alex suggested. "Then on to Russia. We'll need visas, though—not for Ukraine, but for Russia. You can rush them, but it still might take a few days."

Danny waved her comment aside. "That's the least of our worries. I can have visas ready by the time Kono gets her bags from home."

"Who said I'm getting them from home, Brah?" Kono laughed. "They're in Chin's trunk! I've been ready for this for weeks now."

Danny turned to Jerry. "Pal, I know you probably want to come, but we could really use your expertise here. We need someone we can contact by satellite phone. You've saved our butts that way plenty of times."

Jerry nodded. "I get it, Danny. Yeah, I'd like to go, but you're right. You need me here in case you get into trouble and need someone to get you out. I want to do whatever's best for Steve."

Danny's gaze moved to Grover. "What about you, Lou? You've been pretty quiet."

"I want to be there, but I don't see how I can." Lou frowned. "My mom's not doing well lately, and I don't want to be out of touch if she needs me. And if this is all true—Steve's got memory issues—we don't want to overwhelm him with a crowd coming to his rescue. I think the five of you are more than enough." He delivered these words along with a pointed glare at Joe. "Maybe Jerry and I aren't the only ones who should stay here?"

Though Joe was a master of hiding his emotions, Danny could practically see him bristling at Lou's barb, but the former SEAL kept his silence. The only emotion Danny could see on his face was determination. He had made up his mind at last, and no one was going to sway him from his decision to go after Steve.

Danny hoped he wouldn't regret agreeing to it, as he didn't see that he had any other choice. If he said no, Joe would just make the trip on his own. Besides, Joe was the one who had a friend who could transport them. That beat flying a commercial airline to that part of the world!

"All right, then," he said. "We all know what we have to do. Get packed and inform your families that you'll be gone for at least a week, probably more. I don't have to remind you to keep your mouth shut about where and why. I'll get Toast started on the visas. Be at the Palace with your passports no later than 7. Joe, can you arrange our flight in that time? We need to get in the air ASAP. Alex—you're with me. I know you're probably wiped out from traveling, but you'll get plenty of time to rest when we're in the air."

"I'm fine." Alex picked up her bag and followed Danny as the team scattered to make their preparations.

* * *

"C'mon, Rachel. Put Grace on the phone." Danny rubbed at his neck. He was trying very hard to keep his tone civil, but sometimes Rachel infuriated him. "I tried calling her but she won't answer." He rolled his eyes and began to pace the floor of his office. "Yes, yes, I know she doesn't want to talk with me—" He pulled the phone away from his ear for a moment and could still hear every bit of invective Rachel had to hurl at him. When she seemed to have quieted down a bit, he brought the phone to his ear again. "Look, she doesn't have to say anything, but I need to say something to her. I have to go out of town for a while. I'm not sure when I'll be back, and I don't want to leave without talking to her. So please, Rachel. Just give her the damned phone. All right… thank you."

A moment later, he heard Grace complaining to her mother and then a rustle as she took the phone. "I'm here," she said. "I'll give you thirty seconds."

 _What happened to my sweet baby girl?_ he wondered. _Why does she sound like her mother right now?_ He shook his head. "Grace, listen. I know you're mad at me. But I need you to trust me." Damn, he wished he could tell her everything, but he couldn't. "I got some… news today. I have to go away for awhile and when I come back… I… I hope…" He swallowed hard. These last two months of the silent treatment from his daughter had been even worse than his divorce. "I hope everything will be better between us. I love you, Grace."

Silence… but then he heard what sounded like a muffled sob and a strangled swallow. "Daddy?" She sounded like a little girl again. "Are you finally doing what I asked you to do? Are you going to find Uncle Steve?"

His heart sank within him. "Honey… I can't say where I'm going or why. But… I hope it makes things all right between us." There… that was the closest he could get to telling her without actually telling her.

"I won't say anything, Daddy," she said softly. He could tell she was crying. "And… however it turns out… I love you. Thank you for trying. Please… stay safe."

"I will. Hug your little brother for me, OK?"

He looked up as Chin and Kono arrived, five minutes early. Joe was right behind them. "Gotta go now, Grace. I'll be home as soon as I can. Bye."

When he hung up the phone, he blinked back his own tears and then glanced at Alex. "My daughter. She was devastated about her 'Uncle Steve.' She never believed he was dead and has refused to speak to me because I wasn't going to look for him."

Alex smiled softly. "I understand. I've been there… once I gave my dad the silent treatment for three months. He was miserable. We're fine now, though."

"C'mon, everyone. Passports—Toast is ready to stamp them." Danny held out a hand and gathered up the passports as they were thrust in his direction.

"Toast?" Alex looked confused.

"Hacker and computer whiz extraordinaire. He can make the visas look just like the real thing, and he can get them in the system so we won't have any problem when we reach the border." Danny grinned. "You didn't think we were going to wait for actual visas, did you? The consulate would have asked for explanations we're not prepared to give."


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: Well, I knew when I started this story that it was a risky thing, writing for a show that is still in production. I knew when I stared that Kono might not come back and that Chin might leave for San Francisco, but I included them in hopes that CBS would work things out for them to remain in the cast. Sadly, they didn't do it. And now, they've killed off a character! (No worries if you haven't seen it yet—I won't say anything more than was in the trailer.) Suffice it to say, at this point, my story is firmly AU. Those who know me, know I tend to be a canon kind of gal, so I am struggling with this, but the characters keep talking to me and I will keep taking dictation.**

 **Many thanks to my faithful readers, my awesome beta reader katbybee, and my son, who helped me figure out some of the martial arts details.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Glossary**

 **ushanka - Russian fur hat with ear flaps.**

 **Dobryy den, Lis! - Good day, Fox!**

 **Dozvol** **ʹ** **te meni predstavyty - Allow me to introduce**

* * *

Rhee Chul-Gun hid in the shadows, carefully observing the escapees, his two compatriots and the American spy (well, at least they all assumed he was an American spy). In spite of his rabbit fur **ushanka** and his heavy parka, Gun felt the chill of a Siberian autumn night creep into his bones. Daytime temperatures were still comfortable, but during the night, the humidity soared and the temperatures plummeted. Right now, he imagined, the mercury must be hovering near 0.

One week into their journey, the escapees were not currently suffering from the cold. From his hiding place, Gun had watched carefully as Imyarek directed his Korean fellows to dig holes. _Typical lazy American,_ he thought. _Forcing others to work while he sits idly by._ When the American was satisfied with their labor, they gathered what looked to Gun like kindling and used it to pack the larger hole. Then Ji knelt over the pit. His body concealed what his hands were doing, but when he stepped back, Gun could see the three men rub their bare hands over the hole as they smiled and laughed. Clearly, they had started a fire in the pit; Chul-Gun had heard of such things—a hidden fire that would burn hot without producing much smoke to betray its position.

Now the aroma of rabbit roasting over the fire made his mouth water. He had exhausted his own food stores a day and a half ago. He steeled himself against his longing by imagining the reward that would soon come to him. Gun would not only bring back the criminal Pak Hun-Ji and the friend he had corrupted, but he would help recapture the American spy as well. Rhee Chul-Gun had been plucked from the streets he called home by Colonel Ryong Dae-Jun of the People's Army of North Korea and tasked with bringing Hun-Ji the message of his wife's defection, then watching him carefully for any plans of an escape. If he did his task well, he was promised plenty of food and an apartment in Pyongyang. And so he had come to the logging camp to spy for the glory of his Dear Leader. He had sent word to Colonel Ryong of the American's presence as soon as he learned of it; two weeks later, he alerted the colonel of the escape plans. The colonel had arrived in camp the day of the escape, but instead of stopping it, had instructed Chul-Gun to follow the three men. The colonel's explanation ran through Gun's head now. _I live for the hunt, and the human prey is the most exciting of all. They will not evade me long._

Apparently, this particular human prey was more evasive than the colonel expected. _But it will do them no good._ Chul-Gun sneered as he watched Imyarek pull a chunk of rabbit meat off the bone and bring it to his mouth. His stomach grumbled, but he reminded himself that his own hunger was a temporary thing. _They will be captured, and instead of a Russian logging camp, they will be returned in disgrace to face the justice of our Supreme Leader, and I will receive a rich reward._ He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small tracking device Ryong had given him.

"Give them a week," the Colonel had instructed him. "Do not let them see you. I wish to enjoy a good hunt—but if I have not found them by the end of the first week, you will activate this tracking device." Now he turned that device over a couple of times in his gloved fingers, and then he pushed the button.

* * *

About 50 kilometers west of the logging camp, Colonel Ryong Dae-Jun stood over a camp-table, poring over a map. Director Lee Byung-Gi, head of the logging camp, stood nearby, nervously scanning the horizon in hopes of sighting the escapees, while two Russian servicemen prepared a meal over a fire.

"They could not have gotten far, Colonel Ryong," insisted Director Lee. "The American is injured, he lacks the stamina for a strenuous journey."

The Colonel sneered at the smaller man in disgust. "So you have said." He appraised Lee with a critical eye. "Three men have already been punished over the transfer of the American spy to this location. If he is not found and returned to Pyongyang for his sentence to be carried out, you will most certainly join them." He enjoyed the look of fear he had sparked in the incompetent director's eyes. Though he had not elaborated on the punishment the three men had received, Lee could certainly infer that his days were numbered. Colonel Ryong chose not to consider the possibility that his own days were threatened as well should he not bring the spy back to their Supreme Leader.

He did not worry, for he knew he would succeed. When he received word that an American had arrived in camp not long after McGarrett had vanished, Colonel Ryong had begun crafting his plans. Even with his injuries, this American was cannier than most. He might not remember his name, but his training was still well-ingrained. As soon as he had the strength, he would certainly attempt an escape. Ryong expected it—indeed, he longed for it! Such a hunt would prove the most exciting of the colonel's lifetime! Ryong had given the men a few days head-start and then had set out to track them. For a solid week, the prey had evaded their predator. Tonight, though… tonight Rhee Chul-Gun would activate the tracking device and the hunt would come to its inevitable conclusion. At last, the prey would be cornered and brought to its knees.

Ryong folded the map and stepped out of the tent to fetch himself a bowl of stew. Before he had crossed the campsite to the fire pit, the receiver unit he wore clipped to his jacket buzzed and then began a steady beeping. "Ahh… at last… now I have them." He looked carefully at the data the receiver provided him, his eyes widening. "It is not possible!" The device placed them almost 200 kilometers to the west.

"What is not possible, honored Colonel?" Lee ducked his head, avoiding eye-contact.

Ryong fought the urge to strangle Lee and barked orders instead of answering the question. "I require a helicopter."

Lee frowned. "A helicopter, Colonel? It will take time."

"Time is a luxury I do not have. Get me that helicopter, and get it now."

"Yes, Sir!" The little man saluted, and Ryong couldn't help thinking he resembled a child's toy soldier. Then Lee turned on his heel and scurried away. Ryong looked at the receiver again. Lee had better hurry up with that helicopter before the dot moved any further west!

* * *

Imyarek frowned. He had heard something in the distance. A twig cracking, perhaps. A common sound in the woods, but it seemed unnatural to him, out of place. It sounded more like the steps of a man than an animal. He turned, narrowing his eyes as he tried in vain to see anything more than a dark blur beyond the edge of the clearing. Dr. Ivanova had warned him not to squint and strain like this, but he needed to know what was out there.

"Ji," he said softly when his vision proved of no use to him. It felt good that he had gotten to know these two men well enough he could use their given names. Despite their initial distrust of him, the three had become brothers out here in the wild. When Ji talked about his wife and son, vague memories danced through Imyarek's mind—nothing he could grasp and examine, but something about a boy and a girl. He thought he could almost name them, but straining to capture the memories was as effective as straining his damaged eyes.

Ji moved close to his side and put a hand on his shoulder. "Are you all right, Imyarek?"

He shook his head and answered under his breath. "Something is out there… I think we're being followed. We need to move into the woods and take cover so that we can find out who it is."

They had been following the road west, waiting for Ji, who carried a map in his head and had an uncanny sense of direction, to deem it time to head south. Walking while it was dark kept them from freezing, and allowed them to stay alongside the highway, as traffic was infrequent at night. Now they stepped into the thick woods that lined the road, disappearing into the darkness. It did not bother Imyarek, who had grown comfortable moving with his limited vision, especially with Ji to guide him. Ji had proven adept at assuring that he would neither trip nor bang his head against a low-hanging branch.

Soon Ji tapped on his hand, a silent signal that he was about to stop. Steve knew he must judge them well-hidden now. It was time to wait for their shadow and find out who he was.

Only a few minutes passed before Imyarek heard the tell-tale crackle of forest ground-cover underfoot. He tried to peer out from their hiding place, but he could make out little in the darkness. Apparently, their shadow felt the same way, because suddenly a beam of light pierced the night, temporarily blinding Imyarek completely. Imyarek blinked as he shook his head in silent disgust. Their tail thought he could use a flashlight without revealing himself?! What an idiot. Or maybe it was another worker who had decided to join their escape, who trusted them. _Not likely,_ he told himself. He tapped a message on Ji's hand, grateful they had worked out a silent language in preparation for just such a moment as this. _How many?_

A moment later, a single tap answered his question. The light moved forward slowly until it was no longer shining in his eyes. Imyarek waited. From the height of the beam, he could reckon their pursuer's size. He gave him a moment to move past them, then surged forward and kicked where he judged the back of the man's knee to be. As the leg collapsed, Imyarek swung his good arm around the man's neck and squeezed. Within a matter of seconds, the man's struggle ceased as he lapsed into unconsciousness. "Ji, Suk… tie him up, fast. As soon as I let go, he'll wake up. I want to give him a chance to explain what he's up to before we decide what to do with him."

His friends hurried to comply. Ji could see in the dark what had escaped Imyarek's notice. "It's Rhee Chul-Gun!" Once Rhee was bound by the ankles and wrists, Imyarek released his hold.

A few seconds later, Rhee moaned as he came to. Imyarek gave him no time to think before he let his questions fly, leaning in close so he could see the man's reaction in the light of the flashlight, now wielded by Ji. "What are you doing here? Why are you following us?"

"They said… I mean… I was supposed… I... I… I saw you all leaving and decided I would escape too!" Rhee's eyes darted everywhere but Imyarek's face.

"Oh really?" Imyarek backed off, letting Rhee Chul-Gun drop to the cold ground. "Search him," he ordered.

* * *

Danny grumbled. He had argued against the stop in Ukraine, but Alex insisted they needed to talk with Fox in person before going to Russia. She hoped he could give them more information about his sister's location, and she did not trust email.

They had arrived early in the morning in Zaporizhia, only to discover that Fox and Mouse had both been moved to a hospital in Kyiv. Taras gave Alex the contact information.

Danny had found it difficult not to stare at the towering soldier. When Alex had told him that Taras had slung a friend over each shoulder and carried them to safety together, he had chalked it up to exaggeration, but now he believed it. The soft-spoken giant had bowed in greeting when he was introduced to the American team, but he had taken Alex in his arms and kissed her on both cheeks, welcoming her like an old friend. He murmured a few words and pressed several pages into Alex's hand, and then the team was off to the airport once more, this time to fly to Kyiv.

They reached Ukraine's capital shortly after noon and took an Uber into the city from Zhulyani airport. Their driver expounded on the sights they drove past, and Alex provided a translation. The Rodina Mat' statue—lovingly dubbed Metal Mama by Kyiv's denizens—towered over the city, though the tip of her sword had been lopped off after Ukraine gained her independence back in the '90s because no structure in the city could be higher than the cross of Kyiv's Pechersk Lavra monastery.

"Soviets built her as a symbol of protection from Ukraine's enemies. But you'll notice she's facing east—towards Russia—not towards Europe." Their driver let out a wry laugh. "We know who the real threat is." And then he uttered a phrase that made Alex blush. She declined to translate, but Danny got the gist of it anyway.

He made a valiant effort to listen to the full travelogue, but he was tired. Sometime after the Metal Mama, he dozed off, awakening only when they arrived at the hospital and Kono shook him by the shoulder. He blinked and yawned, then followed the others out of the van. He hoped this visit would not last long and soon they would be on their way to Russia and Steve.

Compared to American hospitals, this one seemed dark and dingy. There was no lift, so the team ascended four flights of stairs to reach Fox's floor. The door was cracked open, but Alex knocked before stepping inside, beckoning Danny and the others to follow. Fox sat in a wheelchair by the window. As his visitors entered, he turned his chair to face them. A blanket covered him from the waist down, but there was no missing the fact that only one slippered foot peeked out from under the blanket's bottom edge. The light in Fox's eyes as he caught sight of Alex somewhat eased Danny's impatience at the detour.

 **"** **Dobryy den, Lis!"** Alex nodded toward the team. " **Dozvol** **ʹ** **te meni predstavyty** Danny, Kono, **y** Chin." She turned to the confused American. "I just introduced you all. Everybody, this is Fox."

"Hello, Fox," Danny said, and Alex translated.

Fox nodded a greeting to Danny, but his eyes never left Alex's face. She claimed an empty chair beside him and reached to grasp his hand. Danny knew a few phrases in Russian, but not enough to tell whether Alex was speaking that or Ukrainian. Thankfully she translated her own words and Fox's responses into English. "Fox, I wanted to be absolutely certain before I said anything, but I recognized the man in the picture you sent me. His name is Steve McGarrett. I cannot give you details of how I knew him or how he got where he is, but Danny is his good friend and has been trying to find him. I have promised to go to Russia with him and his team as their translator, but I needed to see you first. I did not want to trust to email. How can we find your sister, Fox?"

"I only know, she is in a camp near Urusha, in the Amur Oblast," Fox answered.

"Have you heard from her again? Has there been any change in his condition?"

Fox shook his head. "I have heard nothing more, which makes me think she has not received my email about meeting you. She must not be able to get away from the camp easily."

She squeezed his hand and smiled. "We will find her, and when we have brought Steve safely home, then I will try to come see you again."

 **"** **Spasibo,"** Fox said softly, and Danny recognized the word without translation: "Thank you."


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: This chapter is longer than I initially planned—I don't think anyone will mind terribly. I do apologize, though, for this longish note. I may not update the story again until December—I've taken the plunge into NaNoWriMo and am working on something I hope will actually be publishable (as in, I could sell it). So, for the month of November I will be working feverishly on that project and letting my fan-fiction stories simmer on the back burner for a bit.**

 **I always try to thank my readers, especially my beta readers, each time I post. I think it appropriate this month to devote a little extra attention to this as (at least for those of us in the USA) Thanksgiving approaches. Please know that I give thanks for each one of you who takes the time to read my work, whether you leave a response or not. It's so much fun to look at the story stats and see where my readers are from. It awes me to know that my words can travel to many more places than I will ever be privileged to go in person. Katbybee, thanks for the writing sprints and all the encouragement, my friend! And as always, many thanks to my husband and son. Your patience and encouragement means the world to me!**

 **In this chapter, you will see that I have changed a character's name. I still need to go back to previous chapters and update them. I discovered today that the name Eun Suk, given to one of the Korean escapees, is considered a female name. It's possible it would work for a male as well, and I have little knowledge of either the Korean language or their naming customs beyond what websites I could not begin to determine the credibility of have told me, but I decided to change the name. The character formerly known as Yong Eun Suk is now Yong Byeong-Su. It is a fitting name for him, for reasons that will become clear as you read.**

 **Finally, I have been told in the past that I should include a warning if a chapter will include a violent death. While I would imagine that most fans of Hawaii Five-0 are unlikely to require such a warning, given the nature of the show, I will offer it here anyway. Be prepared—not all characters will survive the chapter.**

 **And now… without further ado… let the journey continue!**

* * *

Colonel Ryong was fuming. He had returned to the camp, expecting a helicopter to be ready and waiting. Instead, Director Lee was there, bowing and scraping and proving himself thoroughly inadequate. Ryong's report to Pyongyang would not be kind.

"I am sorry, Colonel Ryong. It is too windy for a helicopter. I cannot find a pilot who is willing to go up until the weather has calmed.

"You fool! I wanted to have them on their way back to Pyongyang by daybreak! Get on the phone and find me a pilot, NOW!"

But his anger made no difference. Every helicopter pilot in the area deemed it unsafe to fly, and Ryong had no jurisdiction over anyone but Lee and the denizens of the camp. The drive was only a little more than three hours—a helicopter would have been faster, but three hours driving was better than waiting indefinitely.

* * *

Imyarek closed one eye and carefully studied the device Ji had found in Rhee Chul-Gun's pocket. A green light flashed on one side. He was sure he had seen something like it in the past, but he couldn't remember where. Blasted head injury… every time he thought he might be remembering something, it turned to dust before he could grasp it. Still, he didn't need to know where he had seen such a device to know what it was. It was a tracking device, and that meant someone was coming after them. He pulled his good arm back and pitched the thing as far as he could back in the direction they had come from. "Who is tracking us, Chul-Gun?"

When Chul-Gun refused to answer, Imyarek, guided by instinct, grabbed hold of his left hand and snapped the bone in his pinky finger. "Who is tracking us?" he repeated. Still no answer. Imyarek moved to the right pinky. Snap. Then he took hold of the ring finger, but waited a moment before twisting. As he expected, Chul Gun was ready to give in.

"All right… all right… It's Colonel Ryong of the People's Army. He had me follow you from the time you left camp. He will come soon and take you all back to Pyongyang to face the Supreme Leader's justice. You might as well give up!

Imyarek shook his head and rolled his eyes. He would not dignify Chul-Gun's remark with a response. "Stuff a gag in his mouth and bring him with us, Su. We need to move. Ji, can we change direction soon?" He hoped the man would get the message not to mention their planned route in front of Chul-Gun.

He needn't have worried. "Yes. Just before the city, we turn." Ji took up his position leading Imyarek.

Su came behind them, a gagged and bound Chul-Gun stumbling along beside him. Imyarek was glad they had thought to bring rope, smuggled out of the camp tool shed.

The men moved quickly but carefully. Imyarek had taught them well about not leaving an easy trail to follow. The only reason Chul-Gun managed to track them was that he followed them from the beginning. Now they would simply take even more care, Imyarek decided. Part of him just wanted to kill Chul-Gun and not bother with the wrench his presence threw into the works—another mouth to feed, and they would have to watch him constantly. They could not risk untying him and putting him to work. But Imyarek hated the idea of killing unnecessarily, so they would make the best of it.

This time, they did not stop walking when the sun rose. They needed to put as much distance between the tracking device and themselves as they could. Imyarek couldn't help wondering about other methods the North Korean colonel might use to search for them. A drone, maybe, or satellite imagery. He instructed Ji to keep them following the line of the road, but under cover of the trees. That should give them some protection, he figured. The only thing he couldn't work out was how to evade dogs. Hopefully the colonel didn't have access to any scent hounds.

They walked until they couldn't take another step, making only brief stops to answer the call of nature or drink from the occasional small creek that crossed their path, or nibble at grass or roots. Su was excited to discover some mushrooms, but Ji grabbed his hand before before he could pick any. "Poison," he warned.

When Imyarek allowed a longer rest, he estimated they had traveled about 15 miles since their encounter with Rhee Chul-Gun in the night. It wasn't far enough, but if they didn't rest a while, they would become sloppy, start making mistakes. They couldn't afford that. "Let's rest," he told Ji. "30 minutes, then we move on. We can't risk any longer."

* * *

Rhee Chul-Gun had stewed as Yong Byeong-Su attached a short lead rope to his wrists and dragged him along behind Pak Hun-Ji and the spy. Things were not going his way! The moment he watched Imyarek hurl the tracking device into the deep woods, he knew he was in real trouble. Without the tracker, how would Colonel Ryong find them? The gag in his mouth prevented him from calling out, and Su had threatened to kill him right here if he did not cooperate or if he attempted to mark the trail. What's more, his two broken fingers were extremely painful. Imyarek had allowed Ji to fashion finger splints for him, but that relieved the ache only a little.

While walking, as the sky began to grow a bit lighter, he focused his thoughts on the terrain that surrounded them. All his life, Chul-Gun had been taught that the Supreme Leader could read his thoughts, and he believed it with all his heart. If he focused on where they were, what the traitors and spy were doing, perhaps his thoughts could summon aid. Ryong could receive a message from Pyongyang relaying to him exactly where the trio of escapees could be found. In this way, Chul-Gun could redeem himself in the eyes of Ryong and make it possible that the criminals would receive the punishment they deserved.

Especially Hun-Ji, whose wife and son had fled into China. He hated the man! Surely he had not taught his family proper respect for the state and for their leader. Why could they not see the superiority of life in the DPRK over life anywhere else in the world? What lies had he listened to, to persuade him to make this attempt. Eun-Suk, concerned for his own parents, never would have gone without Hun-Ji's encouragement. And the spy—he must have fueled those lies. Chul-Gun didn't believe for a minute that he had actually lost his memory. Well, he wouldn't live long enough to corrupt anyone else. Chul-Gun would do his very best to see to that!

On their rare brief stops, Su would bring a rag soaked in cold river water to Chul-Gun's lips, allowing him to suck down a few sips. The fluids strengthened him somewhat, but his stomach growled. Once Imyarek fetched dried strips of rabbit meat from his pack and shared them around. Chul-Gun was certain his own share was smaller than what the others received, but he remained silent about it. He kept watching for an opportunity, biding his time until he saw his chance. Colonel Ryong wanted to be the one to make the catch, to bring in the spy, but if the colonel was delayed too long, Chul-Gun knew his duty. He must be ready to eliminate the threat, bring the spy to his knees, and if necessary, end his life. The thought made him smile in spite of his misery.

At last, when the afternoon sun shone down on them, Chul-Gun felt his spirits lifting. Perhaps it was the knowledge of the service he would render to his beloved fatherland that buoyed him. What's more, he could see that Imyarek was tiring, his guard was down.

* * *

Byeong-Su pushed Chul-Gun down to sit on a rock and shortened the hobble rope that bound his ankles; any attempt to escape would end with him falling flat on his face. Then Su went to the creek's edge to wash his face and drink. Try as he might to pull his ankles apart, he could not get that knot to budge, but he was sure if he could just get his hands free, he could untie it or loosen it enough to allow him to move. He didn't even want to escape. All he wanted was to get to Imyarek, who now sat on a rock about ten meters away, eating more strips of rabbit meat, paying no attention at all to Chul-Gun.

Gun shifted slightly, sliding his body down to the ground so that he could work the ropes around his wrists against a jagged edge of the rock behind him. He had noticed it jab into his leg when Byeong-Su first sat him down there. Taking great care to keep his movements quiet—Imyarek, after all, seemed to have incredibly sensitive hearing—he scraped the rope up and down, up and down over the edge, always watching for Su to return from the water. But Su went from the creek bank to talk with Ji. The two kept their voices down and Gun could not make out anything they said. Imyarek had warned them to keep quiet in case the hunter was near. Up and down, up and down he scraped the rope… He felt blood trickling along his wrist when he accidentally rubbed his flesh instead of the rope against the rock. The stinging pain of this wound was inconsequential, though, because a moment later he finally managed to break through the last strands of the rope, freeing his wrists. Sneaking a glance at Su, he knew the man had not noticed his activity, but if he moved too much, he would certainly draw attention. He could not lean forward to release the hobbling rope yet, nor could he risk pulling the gag from his mouth. Keeping his arms behind him, he felt for loose rocks, small enough to grasp in his fist but the right size to do real damage if thrown hard enough. The right size rock could kill a man.

As a child, Chul-Gun had developed both speed and accuracy in rock throwing, depending on the skill to feed himself and his family. He'd had little opportunity to practice in more recent years, and his injured fingers would certainly affect his aim, but he had to try. Finally, he found the perfect rock… almost spherical in shape and about the size of a golf ball. He could envision it striking the American in the head and killing him before he could even realize what was happening.

He cradled the stone in his hand, calling on the Dear Leader to give him strength and courage to glorify the fatherland. Then, in one fluid movement, he whipped his arm back and flung the rock at his target.

In that same instant, Byeong-Su shouted. He had noticed at last what the prisoner was doing. He ran, moving himself in between Imyarek and Rhee Chul-Gun. And as a result, instead of striking its intended target, the rock hit Yong Byeong-Su directly in the center of his forehead.

Before Rhee Chul-Gun could free his ankles, Imyarek had leapt to his feet and crossed the distance between them, stumbling a little over obstacles he could not see, but even so managing to keep his balance. "Ji—tend Su!" he ordered as his momentum carried him to Chul-Gun. Still hobbled, Chul-Gun was standing now, another rock in his hand, but frozen in place by the expression of fury on Imyarek's face. He never got to throw his weapon. Imyarek expertly locked an arm around his neck, gave a single quick twist, and Chul-Gun knew no more.

* * *

Imyarek knelt by Su's side, rocking on his heels, tears streaming down his cheeks. As best he and Ji could tell, the man had died instantly. "He saved my life," he said softly. "Why?"

Ji placed a warm hand on Imyarek's shoulder. "You know what his name signifies?"

Imyarek had not thought about his friend's names, but Ji's quiet words spoke volumes. Byeong Su… words meaning _glorious_ and _defend_ or _protect._ He wiped the blood from Su's cheek. "Thank you," he whispered. "I'll try to make it mean something." He sighed, swallowing his emotions, and gestured for Ji to help him up. "Time to clean up, then go."

They both hated the idea of leaving Su there, exposed to the elements and unprotected from wild animals. Then there was the danger that the two bodies would serve as a confirmation to Colonel Ryong that he was on the right trail, should the colonel came across them. But there was no way they could carry the bodies with them, and they had no time to dig, and then conceal, graves. The creek was not deep enough to conceal them, either, and the river they would eventually come to was many miles away.

In the end, they carried the bodies into the woods and covered them with piles of leaves. Together, Imyarek and Ji did their best to clean up the blood and make the scene appear untouched. Then they continued their journey. Thankfully, the hard-packed earth of the game trail that ran along the river, just under cover of the trees, would take few prints.

They talked in low voices, no longer focusing their discussion on their plans to escape, but each trying to get to know the other. Imyarek, of course, could not answer most of Ji's questions about himself, but he had plenty of questions to ask.

Ji's child was a son named Hun-Min. He was seven years old, and his father had not seen him since he was four. Imyarek enjoyed the warmth in Ji's voice when he talked about his wife, Lee Hye-In, and he could not help wondering whether there was a woman in his own life who was missing him now, who wondered where he was and who cared about him. Who were the children that he remembered so vaguely? Sometimes, he thought they haunted his dreams.

Ji had grown up in a small North Korean farming collective. His father Pak Hun-Deok had been raised in a different Korea before the war that divided the nation. Educated in England, he had returned home after the war out of concern for his parents. He hoped to help them flee, but they refused to leave their home. The devoted son chose to stay with them. He married, outwardly playing the role of a model citizen. Privately, though, he taught his wife and son about his experience in the West, awakening in them a yearning for freedom. He never managed to return to his beloved England, but on his deathbed, he extracted a promise from Ji that he would try to escape with his family if ever the opportunity arose. Only after his father's death did Ji find among his things an old English language Bible, obviously much cherished. Terrified of the consequences of being caught with such a dangerous book, Ji and his young wife had buried it in the woods some distance from the collective. If they could arrange to flee, they promised each other they would dig it up and take it with them, and someday they would read it to discover why it had meant so much to the beloved old man. "He dreamed of returning to Britain, but my dreams were of America," Ji said. "That is where I want to take my family."

"Hawaii," Imyarek said. "You should go to Hawaii." He stopped to muse over the words that had slipped unbidden from his lips, but the memories were playing a game of cat-and-mouse, creeping out of the shadows briefly only to scurry away whenever he tried to catch them. "I… don't know why, but… you should go there."

"Hawaii," Ji echoed, and he nodded. "I only know it has many beaches."

"Beaches and palm trees and volcanoes and… shrimp." The image, crystal clear, of a boy running into the waves with a surfboard filled his mind. _Hold onto that,_ he ordered himself before it could vanish. _Don't let it go this time._ He wished he could see the child's face, and he held his breath, willing the boy to turn around, to look back at him. But before it could happen, the memory faded; the mouse darted back into its hole, eluding the cat once again.

* * *

Ryong was fuming. The driver who had been hired to transport him to Taptugary had dozed off at the wheel, a mere ten minutes' drive from their destination. In one wild moment, the car had careened off the road and crashed into a tree. Ryong, riding in the backseat, suffered only cuts and bruises, but Dmitri, the Russian serviceman sitting in the front passenger seat, had been killed instantly and the driver broke his right arm. The colonel had been sorely tempted to break the left one too, but the man had slipped away sometime after receiving a thorough tongue-lashing. Now the car was useless, the satellite phone was broken, and Ryong and the remaining serviceman had no way to call for help.

"We should walk back to the last town," Arkady suggested. "I'm sure that's where we'll find our driver."

Ryong would have none of it. "There is no time!" he snapped. "We have been delayed far too long this night already. We will walk from here. I have the tracking device and we can get supplies from the trunk and carry them in."

Assigned to attend the colonel's needs, Arkady had no choice but to agree. At least they had the trunk key. The driver had dropped his keyring before vanishing into the night. Ryong picked it up and unlocked the trunk. The damage to the vehicle kept it from opening all the way, but Arkady managed to force it up enough that the colonel could pull out some supplies: a couple of packs containing rations and camping equipment, a hunting rifle, a detailed map, and two flashlights. Ryong swore as he hefted a heavy pack onto his back. He should not have to carry anything at all! Without Dmitri, though, he had no choice. He patted the holster on his belt, taking comfort from the presence of his Yargaryn pistol.

He checked the tracking device again before they set out—their quarry had not moved. Sound asleep and utterly oblivious, he supposed. With any luck at all, he and Arkady could reach their position before they awakened.

"Let's go," he barked. He strode forward, Arkady behind him, anxious to put some distance between themselves and the wrecked vehicle.

* * *

Rather than fly directly from Ukraine, the team took a more round-about route, traveling first to Bucharest, where they switched to a small charter flight to Komsomolsk on Amur. Danny held his breath while his passport was scrutinized, breathing easy only when Toast's fake visas all passed muster. Then they boarded an even smaller plane for the flight to Tynda. Situated about 160 miles from Urusha, this was the closest public airport to the village. They had been lucky Alex could arrange the charter flights for them out of Bucharest. Flying any of the commercial airlines to that remote spot would have taken them more than 24 hours of travel time. The charter flights got them there quicker, and the route enabled them to avoid air-space over the war zone. As they made their final approach to the airfield in Tynda at about 7:00 in the morning, Danny was grateful for clear weather. That's when Joe leaned over and whispered to him, "Be ready for a rough landing. They don't do much to maintain these little airfields."

 _Great._ Danny glanced at the pilot. _I sure hope he knows what he's doing. Then again, if we survived that death trap of a helicopter flying in to rescue Steve from Wo Fat, we can make it out of anything… right?_

The landing was bumpy, thanks to the single cracked and rutted landing strip. Just before they got out of their seats to leave the plane, Joe put a hand on Danny's arm. "I forgot to mention, I've got a ride for us from here."

Danny stopped and turned to look up at Joe. "A ride? I thought Alex was organizing a driver."

"It's almost five hours drive to Urusha!" Joe scoffed. "A helo can get us there faster."

"A helo…" Danny paled, his mind thinking back once again to that rescue mission in North Korea. "No… I don't even want—"

"Hey, I know a guy." Joe chuckled. "Listen, Frank is here waiting for us with Tangerine, all ready to go. I talked with him before we left Honolulu."

"Tangerine?! That bucket of bolts still flies?!" Danny couldn't believe he had gone from remembering that trip on the ancient helicopter as they were landing a few minutes ago, to possibly climbing aboard it on a new attempt to rescue Steve. He pulled his arm from Joe's grip and made his way to the exit.

"Sorry," Joe snarked behind him. "I probably should've told you, but you were busy saying goodbye to Grace at the time. Hey! There's Frank now!"

"Save it," Danny snapped. He looked down from the plane door and groaned at the sight of Frank Bama crossing the airfield toward their plane. Next to him was a tall, leggy brunette woman. Pencil-thin, she was clad in a light sweater, tights, and a short skirt, and she was awfully easy on the eyes. _I can't believe she's not freezing, dressed like that!_ Danny mused, then shook his head. After almost a decade in Hawaii, he'd grown far too accustomed to balmy weather. Back in New Jersey, he'd have found the nip in the air invigorating.

Hopping down from the last step, Alex darted toward the pair with a shout. "Marina! I'm so glad you could come!" The two women hugged, and then Alex walked with the pair back to the group. "Danny, Joe, Kono, Chin… I'd like to introduce Marina Grigorevna Volkova. She's a good friend. She lives in Yakutsk now, but we met when I spent a year studying in St. Petersburg."

"Hello." Marina nicked her head in greeting and stretched out a hand to each team member in turn. "I am pleased to meet you." Danny raised an eyebrow… she wasn't just easy on the eye, but her voice and her soft accent were awfully easy on the ear.

Ignoring Frank, Danny flashed Marina a smile in return. "Glad to meet you, Ms. Volkova. I'm Danny Williams…" He placed a hand on Kono's shoulder. "This is Kono Kalakaua, and these fellows are…" He jabbed a thumb at Chin and then Joe. "Chin Ho Kelly and Joe White. We're—"

Alex jumped in before he could say anything more. "They're working with me on a story."

After nodding a polite greeting to Marina, Joe stepped forward and clapped Frank on the shoulder. "Good to see you, buddy!" He turned to the rest of the team. "Chin, Kono, Danny, you remember Frank. Frank, you remember the team. Meet Alex Murphy and Marina Volkova."

Frank grinned. "Already met Ms. Volkova… got to talking, figured out we were waiting for the same people." He pulled a flask from his coat pocket and took a swig. "Let's go… Tangerine's right over here."

A few minutes later, Danny stood glaring at the old helicopter. At least there were no chickens roosting in it this time, but it still looked as if it were held together with baling wire. He glanced sideways to see how Alex and Marina would react to the sight of their transportation for the day. He thought probably Alex would handle it just fine, so he wasn't surprised when she jumped in. But when the perfectly-coifed, stylish Marina climbed in without hesitation, well—that was not what he expected!

"This is much better than driving," she remarked. "After I met Mr. Bama, I made some phone calls. This doctor you are looking for—Lyudmila Mikhailovna Ivanova—I have found her. She will meet you at the train station in Urusha at 10:00. There is a clearing a short walk from the town that will serve well as a landing site." She flashed a bright smile at Danny.

He warmed in spite of the temperature. _Come on Williams… no time for that now. First we have to get Steve back._ Unwilling to be outdone by this Siberian fashion plate, he swallowed his anxiety and climbed in after Kono. Joe, Chin, and finally Frank followed. Frank took another swig from his flask before starting up Tangerine, communicating with the tower, and then lifting his whirly-bird into the air.

In any other situation, the lack of conversation might have seemed awkward, but the noise from Tangerine made any discussion impossible, so Danny leaned back, closed his eyes, and imagined the impending reunion with Steve. It felt good to have something to smile about again.

* * *

As far as Danny could see, there wasn't much to Urusha other than a cluster of simple houses and a few small businesses. He couldn't make heads or tails of the Cyrillic lettering on the signs. The aroma of wood smoke filled the air, tickling at his nose. A few stray dogs wandered the streets, taking little interest in the newcomers, and Danny was pretty sure he heard the cackling of chickens and even the bleating of a goat or two.

"So… Alex… you have not told me. What is your story about?"

Danny tensed at Marina's question. As attractive as the woman was, he certainly didn't want her prying into their reasons for being there. He wondered what Alex had already told her; he wondered what Frank might have said. Had Joe told the man why they needed his help? He hoped not—he didn't really trust Frank to keep his mouth shut.

"It's classified." At Alex's answer, Danny relaxed and chuckled softly. He heard the snark in the journalist's tone and he certainly didn't miss the glare Marina tossed her. This was an exchange they'd had before. Damn, he missed that with Steve—hopefully, they'd get him back soon and life could return to normal.

Near the northern edge of town, Marina guided them into a small parking lot. "This is the train station. We will go to the platform." Only a few people were waiting on the platform, most of them clustered near the station. The 5-0 team stood at the far end where they could be alone. "Dr. Ivanova should be here soon. I am to meet her at the entrance and bring her to you." With that, she turned and walked away.

"So, who is she exactly?" Danny asked Alex quietly as he watched Marina go.

"She has a government job—nothing upper level. No driver, no fancy vehicle, a remote posting," Alex answered. "I don't know much more than that and I don't ask. I lived with her family when I was an exchange student in St. Petersburg during my junior year of high school. She became like a sister to me. We get along great, so long as we don't talk politics, and I can generally count on her to open doors for me that would be closed to most Americans. I don't always agree with her, but I trust her with my life."

"Will she try to stop us if she finds out what we're doing?" Kono asked, placing a warm hand on Danny's shoulder as if she sensed his anxiety.

"No. She might have to make it look like she's shutting us down, but she'll find a way to make it work. It's just better for her if she doesn't know. Then she doesn't have to lie to anyone… much. You'll notice she stays away while we are talking with Dr. Ivanova—she will give us privacy for our protection and her own. Danny, do you have the photos?"

Danny felt in his coat pocket for the pictures he'd brought of Steve with the team, evidence that their connection was legitimate. "Yeah… they're right—"

He stopped abruptly at the sight of a short, heavy-set woman approaching them with Marina. Unlike Marina, this older woman was dressed for the cold, wearing a long woolen skirt and a heavy sweater. Her dark hair was covered with a kerchief. She spoke to Marina for a moment, and then Marina gestured towards the team before stepping away. Danny stepped forward and held out a hand. "Dr. Ivanova?" She nodded and shook his hand.

Alex opened her mouth to introduce them in Russian, but once again Danny couldn't wait. He figured the woman spoke at least some English because she had written to her brother about communicating with Steve. "We're here to find our friend." Danny thrust his photographs at the doctor. "Your brother contacted Alex…" He nodded his chin toward the journalist. "And she recognized our friend in your picture and found us. I'm Danny Williams." He pointed to his best friend in the photo he held. "This is Steve McGarrett. We're here to take him home." He knew they would need to tell her about her brother's injuries, but for now, Steve was his priority.

The doctor's eyes widened and she gasped as she took in the photos and Danny's words. She crossed herself and gestured heavenward, and Danny could not miss the panic in her eyes. "I… I am hoping long time… someone come help him. And now… now…" She raised both hands in a gesture of helplessness. "Imyarek… your… Steve McGarrett. He is not here. He run away. Colonel Ryong… hunts him… like beast."

Her words sloshed over Danny like a bucket of ice water. He stood, stunned for just a moment, and was grateful when Chin thought to ask the right questions.

"When did he run away, Doctor? Was he alone?"

"Seven days now. Not alone. Two workers… North Koreans… run… ran… with him. They go on foot. We find prints. Ryong send… sent worker to track them. Ryong says… Imyarek must… face justice in Pyongyang."

Danny swore under his breath. "They're going to hunt him down and take him back for execution."

"Not if we have anything to say about it." Joe's voice was grim. Danny thought if Steve's old mentor could look at this Colonel Ryong right now, Ryong would drop dead from the poison in his gaze, but he wasn't sure they had much hope.

"We're going to follow a week-old trail?" Danny didn't mean to bark, but he couldn't help it. He was angry that it took them so long to get here. He was still feeling intense disappointment—in his mind, they should be retrieving Steve from the camp right now, probably heading to Germany to get him medical treatment. He even had Steve's passport tucked in his luggage in hopes that they wouldn't have trouble at border control—might not do much good, what with Steve declared dead, but it couldn't hurt. Now, though, he was reeling from the news that the search was not yet near its end. He had to hang on to some hope… giving up wouldn't do Steve a bit of good. Even so, he couldn't quite get the bitter edge out of his tone. Now it was his turn to snark. "Sorry, Joe. I know… you have the same Super-SEAL tracking abilities Steve has."

"We don't have to track him," Joe said with a wry laugh. "We only have to track Ryong. He won't be expecting it and won't be trying not to leave us a trail."

"Ryong is gone in the night," Lydumila broke in. "Around three o' clock. When Director Lee make call, I am in infirmary, with hurt worker. Director's office… right there. Thin walls. I hear him say… Imyarek is south of Taptugary. Ryong wants helicopter. When Director leaves his office, I go in, I find on his desk these coordinates…" She fished in her pocket and brought out a torn envelope with numbers scrawled across it. "I copied them down. It has to be where Steve was."

"Ryong got a helicopter at that hour?" Danny asked.

"No." Dr. Ivanova shook her head. "Director Lee could not find pilot who will go out—too windy. But drive is not so long, about three hours. Director Lee hired a driver for the colonel and two Russian service men assigned to help him."

Danny frowned. "So he could already have found Steve. We need to get to this Tap two… whatever… place, now!" Suddenly, he was actually eager to get back to Tangerine and get in the air.

"Taptugary," the doctor corrected. "I would like to go with you. Imyarek… I mean… Steve is injured. Such a journey could be dangerous for his health. And I think… I cannot go back to the camp. Please… I help you find Steve… you help me… to America."

"Same old Steve." Danny couldn't help the eye-roll and sarcastic quip. Seemed to him that it didn't matter whether Super SEAL had his memory or not—he always had to do everything the most dangerous way possible. "Sorry, Doctor. Thank you for your help—you are welcome to join us. I can't promise I can get you into the States, but I'll do what I can." He patted her arm and gave her a grateful smile. Well, everyone… let's go get our friend!"


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: Well, I became a bit of a NaNoWriMo rebel during the course of November. Instead of focusing on a single novel, I ended up writing on several different fan fictions in addition to my novel.** ** _Forsaken_** **was one of them. I now have at least the skeleton of several chapters. This month I will be revising and filling them out and hope to update at least a few times.**

 **As always, thanks go to my beta reader and NaNo writing buddy, Katbybee – thank you especially for all the word sprints that helped me reach my 50,000 word goal! – to my husband and son for their patience with me as I read everything out loud to them, and to all of you, my faithful and very patient readers! Thank you especially to everyone who has left a review — your encouragement means a lot to me!**

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

 **Glossary (Russian – English)**

Ey, krasavitsa – Hey, beautiful!

Muy politsiya – We're police!

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

The flight to Mogocha was short. Chin and Danny followed the women out of the helicopter; Joe and Frank brought up the rear. Bama disappeared into the airport terminal, looking for the bar and muttering about needing a shot of Pyat Ozer. Chin wasn't sure what that was, but would put his money on vodka if he were a betting man.

As the team moved through the terminal, Chin noticed a group of eight rough-looking men tagging after them, their attention focused on Kono, Lyudmila, and Alex. His cousin could take care of herself, but even so, Chin was protective. Anyone who threatened her would still be spinning from her powerful roundhouse kick when he felt Chin's fist slam into his face. Just to drive home the point, of course. And when Chin was done, he knew Danny would be waiting in line… Steve too, if he could be here now. Even if Kono didn't need their protection, her trio of self-appointed older brothers would always have her back.

The leering men stepped closer, seemingly oblivious to the three American men who shadowed the women's steps. As they exited through the terminal doors into the bright Siberian day, the gang grew bolder. They maneuvered themselves in front of the women, then turned and blocked the way. The passageway did not allow for the women simply to walk past. Then the gang leader made the mistake of getting in Kono's face.

 **"** **Ey, krasavitsa,"** he slurred. He lifted a silver flask to his lips for a quick swig before making what Chin guessed to be a lurid suggestion, based on Lyudmila's horrified gasp. Chin didn't need to know Russian to know what the drunk wanted. The women rolled their eyes and Kono shoved past him. All three walked on, but Alex turned back to answer the man in Russian, tossing him a gesture that needed no translation and brought a blush to Lyudmila's cheeks. Unfortunately, this brash response did nothing to discourage the drunk or his friends. Chin darted forward to position himself near his cousin, but by this point the gang had surrounded the women, effectively cutting them off from the rest of their group. A crowd of onlookers began to take notice, but no one said a word or stepped up to help.

Chin cast his gaze around, looking for local law enforcement. He figured it was better for them to deal with these characters than for the team to spark an international incident. Near the airport entrance, a pair of police officers leaned against a wall, watching, but apparently uninterested in breaking things up. Chin shouted for them, but they simply ignored him.

"Hey!" Danny shouted, and he spouted off his few lines of Russian as he dropped the bag he was carrying and drew up next to Chin. But the gang wasn't listening. They were too busy trying to get away from Kono's kicks and punches. Alex fought alongside her. Chin had to admit, the young journalist was scrappy, probably had a bunch of older brothers who toughened her up till she could give as good as she got. Meanwhile, Lyudmila stood in one place, red-faced and scolding, and whenever a gang member stepped near her, she whacked him hard with her handbag. Faced with three women who would not be cowed, the minions soon fled. Kono shoved the gang leader aside and Chin caught hold of him. He gripped the sorry excuse for a man firmly by the arm, drew back his free hand, and delivered a knife hand strike to his neck.

Chin let the unconscious man slide to the ground and stepped to Kono's side. "Thanks for sending one my way, Cuz," he quipped. "I know you didn't have to." Then he frowned at the sight of the police officers, finally walking their way. "Well, it's about time," he muttered. He expected to see them haul at least the gang leader off to jail. To his surprise, the first officer ignored the gang members and turned all his anger on Chin, his words coming out in a torrent of Russian as he jabbed the air with his index finger.

"I don't understand you!" Chin's protest did no good; obviously the officer did not understand him either.

When Alex attempted to translate, the second officer quickly shut her up. And when she pulled out a wad of rubles and waved them in his face, he turned bright red and pushed her hand away, jabbering angrily and threatening her with a pair of handcuffs. She backed off, her hands raised, and kept quiet.

Without the benefit of translation, Chin had no idea why he was the one the one in trouble instead of the gang members, who had joined the crowd of onlookers. When he resisted arrest, the officer drew a gun on him. Chin's fingers itched to pull his own holstered weapon, but instead he raised his hands in the air. As flustered as he was, he knew that drawing on a police officer would not help his case in any way.

Alex had maneuvered herself next to him. "Just cooperate," she said quietly. "We will take care of this. We will get you free… If we must, I will call Marina again and she will help us."

Chin heard Danny's voice raised above the commotion. "This isn't right! **Muy politsiya!"** Out of the corner of his eye, Chin glimpsed Joe holding the shorter man back while the second officer trained a gun on him.

"It's not worth it, Danny," Chin called out. "Just go get Steve. Then come back for me. I'll be OK." He surrendered his weapon, then allowed the police officer to fit handcuffs on his wrists and lead him away.

The team watched, stunned, as Chin let himself be pushed into the back of a small police car. The officer who had arrested him strutted around to the front, leaving the small group of Americans huddled together in shock. The gang leader had regained consciousness by now and slunk off to lick his wounds.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Colonel Ryong bit back a groan. Every nerve ending ached. He wasn't sure whether it was more a result of the jarring impact of truck into tree, or the long hike into the woods that had left him feeling as if he had been run over by a tank. If their journey over the past several hours had proved anything, it was that the colonel was not in the peak physical condition he imagined. He lagged several meters behind Arkady, frequently barking at the long-legged man to "Slow down, for goodness' sake!" The serviceman would stop and wait for him to catch up and then would soon stride ahead once again. At last, though, hours after the wreck, they were only a matter of about fifty meters from the tracking device. The woods were thick, so Ryong was not surprised he saw no sign of their prey. He drew his Yargaryn pistol and held it at the ready. Arkady had his rifle up, ready to shoot.

"Do not shoot to kill," Ryong hissed. "They must be brought alive to Pyongyang, to be made an example." The Russian only grunted. Clearly, the man did not understand the importance of this mission. Were Arkady one of Ryong's countrymen, his lack of enthusiasm would almost certainly guarantee him and his family a miserable existence in a labor camp. Before they stepped beyond the last stand of trees, the imbecile even crossed himself. Ryong scoffed at such superstitious nonsense. Why had he been assigned such a man to assist him? For that matter, why couldn't Dmitri have been the one to survive? Dmitri was a seasoned soldier, thrilled with the idea of joining Ryong on the hunt, but Arkady had on several occasions voiced sympathy for their prey. Yes, he was practically useless. Almost… at least he was carrying the heavier pack.

Only five meters more… "Softly, now. We do not wish to waken them until we are in position." They stepped through the trees to find… nothing. No one was there. Ryong pressed a button on his receiver to set off a long shrill noise from the tracking device. The sound pierced the early morning, and Ryong easily located the tracker lying in the dirt at the base of a fir tree.

He yanked up the device and hurled it as hard as he could at the tree. It bounced off and lay at his feet, the blinking green light taunting him. "They know we are hunting them," he growled. "Or else Chul-Gun has betrayed me, but I cannot imagine he would. No matter… he is a dead man when I find him! I must bring McGarret and Pak Hun-Ji back alive, but Rhee Chul-Gun does not matter in the least. Him I may kill!"

"Perhaps you may do that in your country, Colonel," Arkady said flatly, for the first time standing his ground. "But you have no such authority here. I will not let you kill the man. If you try I will march you by gunpoint to the nearest town and have you taken into custody."

"And if I kill you here, who will know?" Colonel Ryong shook with fury as he aimed his pistol at Arkady. He was not accustomed to having his words met with defiance.

"You will not kill me," Arkady stated. "I will not kill indiscriminately, but neither will I neglect to defend myself. I was assigned to serve you, and so I will. But I am not bound to allow you to commit murder. Besides…" And here, the glint in his eye mocked the colonel. "Without me, who will carry your bags or lead you back to civilization?"

Ryong ground his teeth. He would simply have to bide his time. The Russian was taller than he, and fool though he was, he was extremely strong. Even if the colonel managed to overpower and shoot him, he had made a good point — who would carry the bags or lead the way? Ryong had no wish to be alone in this dismal place, nor did he feel prepared to apprehend the traitors and the spy alone. He lowered his gun. "Get moving… I was told you are an expert tracker. Find their trail and let's move."

"This I will do." Arkady bent to examine the dirt where the tracking device had landed. "It came from the south," he said, pointing past Ryong. "That way." Ryong followed him through the woods. The tall serviceman stooped low and moved slowly, carefully surveying the ground. Finally, something stopped him for a long moment, though Ryong could not see what. At last he stood up straight. "This is where they stood. I see signs of a scuffle. Four men moved off in that direction."

Seething, Ryong walked behind Arkady, trying but failing to see the trail he followed.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Lyudmila scowled at the officer who manned the desk in Mogocha's police headquarters. "The man did nothing wrong, Lieutenant! You are the criminals if you hold him any longer. I have contacted the US Consul in Vladivostok and he is not well-pleased at this turn of events!" She hoped the man would quake in his boots, but she was disappointed.

"Babushka," he said, and she could tell he was attempting to sound polite. He failed, and she resented the implication that she was an old grandmother to be placated. "Please, Babushka. Of course we are willing to discuss Mr. Kelly's case with the Consul when he arrives. Until then, he will remain where he is."

Her eyes darted left, then right, and then she brought out her pocketbook and lowered her voice. "Please, Officer. Surely I can convince you to help us." She pulled out the dollars that the Americans had given her. Unlike many police in the region, the officer who had arrested Chin Ho Kelly considered himself above accepting a bribe; hopefully, this one would not.

He glanced down at the substantial amount of money, likewise looking left and right before accepting it and slipping it into his pocket. "Fine. I will see what I can do, babushka. I am sorry for the trouble you have experienced. We are mostly a good-hearted lot here, but Sergeant Sokolov is known for his dislike of foreigners, especially…" He frowned and leaned closer. "Well… you know what I mean… _that_ sort of foreigner."

Lyudmila stiffened. She was not sure if the lieutenant meant Chin's race or his nationality. It didn't really matter. "All I know is that a good man has been arrested, while the men who attempted to assault my friends have gone free!"

"As I said, I am sorry. Have a seat in the waiting area, please, and I will see how I can help you." He opened the door and gestured for her to step into the hallway ahead of him.

Danny, Joe, Kono, and Alex sat in the waiting room while Dr. Ivanova talked with the officer on desk duty in Mogocha's police headquarters. They hoped she might manage to get Chin released, or at least get in to see him. If she could not bring him out, perhaps she could at least bring out information about where his cell was.

They had called the nearest American Consulate, but that was in Vladivostok, and it would take the consul's representative more than a full day to get to this backwater. Danny was pretty sure securing Chin's release would be up to the five of them. Well, the four of them. Alex was willing to help, but Danny didn't want her to have any trouble that might affect her professionally. A call to her friend Marina had gone unanswered — most likely, she was already making the long drive from Tynda back to Yakutsk and had no reception.

At the moment, Danny felt torn. Steve was out there somewhere, needing rescue, and yet they couldn't just leave Chin. Could they? The last thing Chin had said to them was to go get Steve… It wasn't like these police were going to risk an international incident by letting something happen to Chin before the consul arrived.

At last, about the time Danny started pacing the waiting room floor, Dr. Ivanova came bustling out the door. The others stood and Danny turned to face her. "What's the news?" Danny asked for them all.

"The Lieutenant… he say… he try. We must wait."

Danny sighed. "I hate this… it's just putting us further behind."

Joe grunted under his breath. "We shouldn't have bothered with the lieutenant. We could have gotten him out of here ourselves easily. I've been casing the place… their security is pitiful!"

Lyudmila frowned at the suggestion. "You do not wish… get arrested also, Mr. White. And you do not wish… Mr. Kelly have trouble when you leave Russia."

"She's right." Danny just hoped the lieutenant really could help. "If they can't spring him, we'll have to go after Steve and leave Chin to the Consul."

Kono frowned, but finally nodded her agreement. Joe shrugged and said Danny was the boss. And both Alex and Lyudmila expressed that he had made a wise decision, even if it was a difficult one. They all settled in silently to wait.

Twenty minutes later, the lieutenant conducted Chin Ho Kelly into the waiting area. He pulled a bulky envelope from under his jacket. "Your passport and personal effects, Mr. Kelly. You are free to go. I apologize for your inconvenience."

The Five-0 team surrounded Chin and clapped him on the back.

"Good to see you again, buddy," Danny said. "Let's go get Steve."

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Arkady made a show of checking the ground again. He hoped that the haughty North Korean colonel would not catch on. He had been assigned to assist the colonel in capturing the escapees, but he knew what they faced when they were returned to Pyongyang, and he hated being a part of that. Like a good soldier, he had obeyed his orders, but now he felt he had a legitimate reason to refuse those orders — the colonel had pulled a gun on him, threatening his life if he did not go along with his plan to commit outright murder.

He had led the colonel as instructed, carefully observing the path until he found the marks of a trail. It had been obscured, beyond the ken of an amateur like Ryong. No doubt, Steve McGarrett, former Navy SEAL, was responsible. Following the trail had become something of a game for Arkady, a true test of his skills. This McGarrett had quickly gained the Russian's respect and his sympathy.

Arkady judged the trail to be at least six hours old. Without a word to the colonel, he led the way forward slower than necessary, hoping to give the men plenty of time to lengthen their lead. When he came to a place where he found evidence of an attack — blood on a rock, vegetation disturbed, the path swept clean of tracks — he said nothing to Ryong. He could even see where something — most likely a body-had been dragged into the woods, but Ryong did not see it. From this point, only two had walked on. He wondered which two.

As Arkady had known it would, after several hours their trail crossed a road. If followed to the west, the road would take them to the small village of his birth. He knew this land as well as he did because he had been brought up here. Now he glanced back at the colonel, noting with satisfaction that the man was struggling to keep up. The weight of his rifle seemed too much. "Colonel Ryong," he said, and he bowed in a show of respect. "I have been insolent. You are a great man, and I should not have questioned your judgment. Allow me to lighten your load and carry your rifle."

A blaze of fury ignited briefly in the colonel's eyes, but was quickly quenched as exhaustion overtook both pride and caution. Ryong slowly nodded his agreement and passed the rifle into Arkady's possession.

Instead of slinging the rifle over his shoulder, Arkady leveled it at the colonel, all show of respect forgotten. "I am placing you under arrest. Drop your pistol and your knife on the ground, now."

"You are arresting me?!" Despite his protest, Ryong threw down his weapons and raised his arms, all the while glaring daggers at Arkady. "What do you mean by this? I will have you court-martialed!"

Arkady's eyes burned into Ryong's. He knew Korean culture dictated that a low-level sergeant like himself must never dare to look an officer of higher rank in the eyes; now he purposely defied this custom to indicate his utter loathing of the man. "Colonel, I am honor-bound to prevent you from committing murder. We will take this road and walk to the next village, where I will arrange for transport to Mogocha. Most likely, you will be sent back across the border and prevented from returning."

Though he spoke confidently, Arkady knew his words might not be true — his superiors probably didn't care about the life or death of an insignificant Korean logger or the American spy. Arkady might well find himself facing severe discipline for his actions. It would be safer to allow Ryong to do as he had planned and make the excuse that he was "only following orders" if questions arose. But Arkady's mother and father had taught him long ago to choose the right way rather than the safe way, and he was convinced that the right thing to do now was to allow the escapees an opportunity to elude their hunter, and so he would buy them some time.

Without taking his eyes — or the rifle — off the colonel, Arkady kicked the pistol and knife into the brush, then reached into his back pocket for a zip-tie. He closed the space between himself and Ryong in a couple of long strides. Once he had zip-tied the colonel's hands behind him, he pushed him forward and barked out the order to march.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Too tired to go any further that day, Imyarek and Ji finally stopped to rest. Ji had seen a cave and he guided Imyarek in that direction. Together the exhausted men labored up a steep slope toward the hole. Before they reached the entrance, though, Imyarek saw a dark blur came lunging out at them, a growl emanating from its throat. Adrenaline rushed through him, bringing him instantly fully awake to assess the situation. They had happened upon the den of a bear. He knew the creatures would prepare their dens and move in during the autumn, but would not actually sleep right away. Instead they would lie awake and watchful at the entrance to the den, ready to attack anyone who drew near. If this bear were a mother of young cubs, she would be particularly dangerous.

Imyarek was glad he had insisted on carrying the spear he'd made. He gripped it tight in his hand and then lifted it, at the same time moving forward toward the mass of angry claws and fur and teeth. He shook the spear and shouted as loud as he could. "Ya! Ya! Ya!" Then he poked the spear at the huge creature. He wanted to draw it away from Ji, unwilling for another friend to face death on his behalf. His tactic worked. The bear turned and swiped at the long spear. "Get away, Ji!" Imyarek shouted. "Fast… up a tree!"

Unwilling to turn his back on the creature, he backed away a little bit, and it followed him. Aiming for the eyes, he poked with the spear and shouted a taunt. The bear growled, then swiped the spear from his hand, breaking it and knocking it to the ground. Imyarek danced to one side, shouting and waving his good arm. He wanted to get himself away, to get up a tree… but when he backed up against a trunk, he found the branches were too high for him, especially with only one functioning arm. The bear lumbered after him, faster than he thought possible. Finally, he turned to run, but before he could take a step, he felt the sting of claws as they raked across his back. He stumbled forward, faceplanting in the leaves and bracken. Covering his head with his good arm, he closed his eyes and steeled himself for another attack.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

The attack never came. What neither Imyarek nor the bear had seen was Ji creeping up behind the great creature, the sharpened end of the broken spear held tight in his hand. Ji stabbed the weapon as hard as he could into the back of the huge animal. It turned its attention toward him, taking two steps in Ji's direction before falling to the ground. Ji dispatched the creature quickly, then hurried to Imyarek's side.

"Imyarek… Imyarek!" he said, gently shaking his friend's shoulder. Imyarek only moaned. Ji closed his eyes tight for a moment, took a deep breath, and then opened them again. He carefully appraised the American's condition.

There in the woods, with no supplies to speak of, Ji was uncertain what to do, but he knew he had to try something. Ji could not simply let his friend die. He fetched water from the river and used it to wash out the wounds. "I have to stop the bleeding," he breathed out as he pulled off his shirt. He tore the garment into strips and bound up Imyarek's wounded back and sides. The American shivered, though his skin was burning hot. "Shock," Ji whispered, wishing he were better equipped to do something about this.

After the initial groans, Imyarek did not respond to Ji's voice or touch. "Must get him out of here… to a town." They had crossed a dirt road not far back, and he was sure it must lead somewhere — if not to a town, then maybe to someone with a vehicle who could help them.

Ji no longer cared about obscuring their trail, removing all signs of their passage. Imyarek had insisted on it, but now it would take time they did not have.

Near the river, a tree had recently fallen. Ji used his knife to hack some limbs from the trunk. He had enough rope left to rig a makeshift drag sled and a shoulder harness. After carefully pulling Imyarek onto the drag-sled, he slipped the harness over his shoulder and began the arduous journey back to the dirt road.

He traversed the faint trail that had brought them to the cave, then headed back to the path they had been following. Turning north, he walked back to the road. There at the juncture, a glint of sunlight on metal caught his eye. He bent to investigate. Lying beside the trail was a pistol and a knife. The sight chilled him — perhaps the men hunting him and Imyarek were close by. But he had no choice but to move onward. He secured the weapons inside his jacket and then went on, carefully pulling the drag-sled behind him. At the road, he turned west. He kept his ears perked for the sound of a car or truck engine. In this wilderness, he knew he might walk for an entire day without seeing a soul. He only hoped that if someone did appear, it would not be the hunter, but someone who could give them aid.

As he walked, Ji cast a prayer to the heavens, thinking of the buried Bible he had found among his father's things. The old man had prayed — Ji had vague memories of hearing it as a boy. But was there really anyone to hear? If ever there was, he hoped it was now, for he could not tend this broken man alone.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: I posted this chapter sometime last year, and then took it down for revision. Somehow, I forgot to put it up again, and then I became fixated on wrapping up my Emergency FanFiction,** _ **Stirring the Ashes of Memory.**_ **Shortly after I did that, a new story took over and everything else got pushed to the back of my mind. Now I have finished** _ **The Hard Road**_ **and I am turning my focus once again to** _ **Forsaken.**_ **I am starting with a repost of Chapter 11, and hope to have brand new material for you soon!**

 **Many thanks go to my beta reader, Katbybee, who jumped in and helped me RP a large part of this chapter so that I could break through that block! Kat, you are awesome. Thank you, as always, to my husband and my son, who are always there to cheer me on, and to all of you awesome readers for your patience and for coming back to read and review!**

 **Disclaimer: No actual birds were harmed in the writing of this chapter.**

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

 **Glossary: Russian – English**

Privyet – Hello

Spasibo – Thank you

Muy politsia - We are police

Amerikanskaya politsia - American police

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

About an hour after he reached the road, Ji heard the sound of a vehicle in the distance. He stopped by the side of the road, removed the harness from his shoulder, and stretched his aching muscles. A few seconds later, a battered green Lada truck came into view. With a sigh of relief, Ji stepped into the road and waved his arms. The truck stopped and the driver stepped out.

Ji called in halting Russian. "Help! Please, you can help?!"

The man sprinted toward Ji. "Privyet. What's the problem?"

Bowing respectfully, Ji gestured toward the sled. "My friend… hurt. Bear!"

"A bear?!" The man frowned and turned back to his truck.

At first, Ji thought he was about to drive away. "No danger more… bear dead! Please… you can help!"

The man opened the door to his truck and pulled out a backpack, then slammed the door shut and hurried over to the drag sled. He edged past Ji and knelt at Imyarek's side. "Don't worry… I will help your friend. I am a doctor… Dr. Artyom Semyenov."

Ji bowed in gratitude. "I Pak Hun-Ji. This man… my friend. Spasibo."

Dr. Semyenov carefully scrutinized Imyarek's injuries, then looked back up at Ji and snapped out a series of instructions. "Bring kindling and get a campfire going. In the back of my truck, you will find some camping supplies… get the iron cookpot and fill it with water at the creek, then set it to boil."

Ji had to work to translate the doctor's words to Korean in his head, but he got the gist of it. Campfire… boil water. He scurried to do as he'd been asked, sneaking occasional glances over at Imyarek and his new caregiver.

The doctor crossed himself before setting to work removing the blood-soaked bandages. Ji winced at the sight of them peeling away from the wound. He knew the shirt he'd used had not been particularly clean, but he'd had nothing else. He hoped his efforts would not lead to more suffering for his friend.

In short order, he had a campfire blazing. He hurried over to the truck and found the cook pot, then filled it with water from the creek that ran alongside the road. When he returned to the fire, he found the doctor had placed a metal grill over the flames. Ji set the pot on the grill and then stood back and waited.

Before long, a multitude of large bubbles rolled up to the surface of the water. Dr. Semyenov opened his pack and pulled out several large strips of gauze, which he tossed into the frothing liquid. He handed Ji a long tree limb. "3 minutes," he instructed. "Then take them out and lay them in the sun to dry. Don't let dirt soil them."

Thankfully, it was a clear, sunny day. Ji almost felt too warm, sitting by the fire, waiting for the bandages to boil. It was a relief to move away from the heat and lay the gauze out to dry.

"He is lucky the bear did not bite him or go for his face." The doctor's comment drew Ji's attention from his task. "They usually do."

"She about to… I… grab… spear…" Ji shuddered and fell silent. He did not wish to relive that moment, or even try to put it into words. Dr. Semyenov looked up at him, and this time Ji saw real approval in his eyes. He glanced down, embarrassed by the attention.

"You stabbed an angry bear?" the doctor asked.

Ji shrugged. "Was… lucky. And Imyarek… he save my life. I… not just let him die."

"Imyarek?" The doctor's forehead wrinkled. "Why do you call him this?"

As best he could in his imperfect Russian, Ji explained about his injured friend and their escape from the camp. At this point, he knew as much of Imyarek's story as Imyarek himself knew.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

While Pak Hun-Ji told his story, Semenov fetched a syringe and a vial of kanamycin from his pack. He carefully measured a dose and injected it into Imyarek's right shoulder. Then he sat back and carefully appraised the Korean. He had heard of the logging camps and the terrible conditions there; he knew that, though the workers were not technically prisoners, the Russian citizenry in these parts would not usually hesitate to see that anyone who tried to leave was sent back. He could see the nervous tremble in Pak Hun-Ji's hands, and he imagined the man was afraid of being sent back to the logging camp, and from there most likely to a labor camp. Pak Hun-Ji and Imyarek were neither one of them much more than skin and bones. It surprised Semenov that they had been able to make the trek they did. If the man had his days right, they had to have made at least 35 kilometers a day since leaving Urusha. And then, for Pak Hun-Ji to have managed to drag his friend any distance after the bear attack — well, that was an impressive feat.

They needed to get moving, but he felt the need to level with Imyarek's friend first. "Listen, Mr. Pak, you are safe with me. I won't try sending you back to the camp. But I'm really just a veterinarian. My patients usually have four legs, not two. Sometimes I work with humans — out here, more often than not, I'm the only doctor available. But your friend's injuries are beyond my skills. He needs a clinic with a regular doctor and he needs better antibiotics than I can give him. These wounds are likely to get infected, and you don't want him going septic. If you come with me, I can bring him to someone who will give him the proper care, and I will do my best to protect you."

Pak Hun-Ji stared at the doctor for a long moment, then gave a brisk nod of his head. "I will trust you."

Semyenov only hoped he could live up to the promise he had made. "Let's get him in the bed of my truck, then. There is a village to the west along this road… normally an hour's drive, but I will have to take it slow… maybe two, three hours. Let's go."

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Colonel Ryong eyed Arkady when the sergeant's attention was on filling his canteen at the creek. He had left Ryong tethered to a tree, content that the combination of zip tie and rope would keep the captive secure. Arkady had taken one gun from Ryong already, but was unaware of another weapon the colonel had kept hidden, nor did he realize that Ryong knew how to free himself from the zip ties. When Arkady stepped behind a tree to relieve himself, Ryong took full advantage of the opportunity. He had watched several demonstrations on how to break zip-ties and knew exactly how to thrust his wrists to do it, but he was not prepared for the sharp pain that lanced through each wrist. He rubbed at his arms to get the blood moving, then pulled a small handgun from the waistband of his pants. Quickly and quietly, he moved into the trees to await the sergeant's return.

Ryong had his next moves carefully planned out. As soon as he heard Arkady's frustrated curse upon discovering his prisoner's escape, Ryong leaned around the tree just enough to aim and fire his weapon. He watched with satisfaction as a blossom of red spread across Arkady's left thigh and the man looked down in confusion. Ryong grinned to see Arkady fall, and then he turned and ran.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Semyenov kicked at the dirt and growled in frustration. He checked on the patient in the bed of his truck, then returned to the task of changing the tire. Of all the times to get a flat!

When he felt something hard press into his side, he stiffened and whirled around, his hands in the air. A Korean man in uniform stood with a gun trained on him — it had to be Colonel Ryong.

"Finish changing the tire," he ordered in heavily accented Russian. "I need your truck."

Semyenov glanced sideways into the truck bed, where Pak Hun-Ji was lying flat, trying to keep himself and Imyarek out of sight. A moment later, the veterinarian regretted checking on them, because Ryong immediately took interest. When he saw who was in the truck bed, his hard eyes narrowed. "Ahh, so you have captured my quarry, I see! I should thank you for that. Now… change the tire, then climb in with them." When Semyenov did not move immediately, Ryong aimed the gun at Imyarek's head. "Do it… or I will shoot him right here."

At that, Pak Hun-Ji sat up. Semyenov admired him for mustering the courage… though perhaps it was more foolish desperation. Whatever it was, clearly Pak Hun-Ji was angry at the callousness of Ryong and had chosen not to be cowed by it. What's more, the skinny logger was not about to let the little man kill Imyarek if he could help it. His words were in Korean, and Semyenov could not understand them; even so, he sensed courage behind them. The man's steady voice betrayed no hint of fear.

Ryong scowled, but he did not argue, and then he addressed himself to Semyenov. "He reminds me that I will have no glory if I kill the spy here, that to visit humiliation on a living enemy is more desirable than to take his life." And now he adjusted the aim of his pistol, pointing it at Pak Hun-Ji's head instead and the scowl faded into a smirk. "He speaks true, but bringing back the spy will be glory enough for me. I do not need the traitor as well, so I will kill him if you do not cooperate."

Semyenov took a step forward, hands still in the air. Ryong kept the pistol trained on Pak, turning his head only slightly to watch Semyenov's movements. "Go on… change the tire. NOW. Then get that rope." He pointed with his chin to a coil of rope in the corner of the truck bed.

"Of course… whatever you say! Just… don't hurt them." Semyenov knelt by the truck and quickly finished the job, then climbed in the bed with a worried glance at Pak Hun-Ji and Imyarek and fetched the rope.

"Tie them up! Hands behind the back," Ryong ordered.

Semyenov moved to obey. He had a feeling he would not be getting out of this situation alive, but he would do his best not to get Imyarek or Pak Hun-Ji killed.

When he was done with Imyarek and moved to Pak Hun-Ji, the Korean's eyes met Semyenov's and he said quietly, "All be well. Do as you must." He nodded slightly at his unconscious friend. "No fear. I take care him."

"Good." As Semyenov bound the Korean's wrists, he worked his way around so that his back was to Ryong, and then he whispered in Pak Hun-Ji's ear. "My hunting rifle… in that locked box, up against the cab. But the key is in the glove compartment." He hoped somehow that the man would manage to break into the box and arm himself.

Ryong barked an order, and Semyenov clapped Pak Hun-Ji on the back. "Do what you must to stay alive, my friend." With that, he climbed out of the truck bed, his hands held high.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Ryong sneered at the Russian. _I really ought to kill him,_ he thought. _But he brought me my quarry._ "You have been very helpful. In exchange for your cooperation, I will not kill you. Hand over your keys." When he had the keys in hand, he motioned with the gun. "Now turn around… face away from me. When I count five, start walking and do not look back." As he counted, he stepped silently forward, the gun raised high. Just as the traitor in the truck bed opened his mouth to yell out a warning, Ryong slammed the butt of the pistol into the Russian's head. The man slumped to the ground, unconscious.

The colonel ignored the traitor's protests and ran to climb in the cab of the truck. He started the engine, turned the truck around, and headed east along the road.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Arkady groaned as he pulled shredded bits of fabric from the bullet wound. The little rat had actually shot him! He lifted his hand and gazed at the blood for a moment, then reached around the back of the leg to feel for an exit wound. The bullet had passed clear through. That meant it hadn't shattered the bone, right? Right now, he hardly felt it, but he was sure once the surge of adrenaline had worn off, the pain would make itself known. Well, whatever the case, he couldn't just stay here and bleed to death. He had to stop the bleeding and figure out how to get out of here to get help.

Thankfully, his pack was within reach. He had an extra undershirt in there—a clean one. When he had retrieved the garment, he quickly tore part of it into strips. The remaining part, he wadded up and pressed tightly against entry and exit wounds, then bound them in place, creating a makeshift pressure bandage. Growling to himself about what he would do to Ryong when he caught up to him, he cast around for anything he could use as a crutch. He found a good sturdy branch lying close by. After pulling the pack strap over his shoulder, he gripped the branch tightly and dragged himself to his feet. Once the initial dizziness passed, he squared his shoulders, steadied himself, and took a few experimental steps. The branch wasn't quite long enough to be a comfortable crutch, but it would serve well enough for the moment. At least he wasn't falling on his face.

He picked up the rifle Ryong had foolishly left behind, checked it, and discovered it was still fully loaded. Satisfied, he then worked out the obvious trail left by Ryong and grimly began to limp down the path after him.

As he struggled onward, he recited prayers from his childhood, vaguely wondering which saint to pray to for vengeance. St. Olga of Kyiv, wasn't it? He hoped Ryong had not caught up to his quarry... Arkady had meant it when he said he would not allow the North Korean colonel to shoot anyone. Now, Ryong had made it personal. And so, heedless of the pain in his leg, Arkady hobbled on.

Before long, he realized the trail was leading him to a road. He slowed his pace and ducked down into the scrubby undergrowth. There was no traffic, so he stepped onto the packed dirt and limped on, planning to duck into the drainage ditch that ran alongside the road if he should need to. Arkady knew the area very well. He had traveled this same road in the past. His village was not far up the road and he still had family and friends who lived there.

He continued his trek for another ten minutes or so, constantly scanning the road for any sign of the little rat. He peered ahead, cursing the wound in his leg and the slow pace it forced on him. Suddenly, he skidded to a stop when he spotted a truck barreling along the road toward him. It sped past him, and through the window he could see the rat himself in the driver's seat! Ryong turned to look at him, to laugh in his face as he drove on by. Furious, Arkady—a crack sniper by training—pivoted on his heel, raised his rifle, and lined up his shot through the back window of the truck.

Unfortunately, and much to his disgust, just as he fired, a bird flew directly into the bullet's path. Feathers flew everywhere as the creature exploded from the force of the impact. Untouched, Ryong sped off, and Arkady simply stood there for a long moment, processing what had happened. It was such a ridiculous situation, he could not believe it. _A bird!_ He shook his head and scowled.

He stared after the truck as he considered his options. On foot, especially injured as he was, he had no hope of catching up to Ryong. But if he could make it to his village, he could borrow a horse. Riding cross country, he could make good time. Even then, he might have no hope, but he was intent on revenge. _God, you say revenge belongs to you… May I be Your instrument in carrying it out!_

Hobbling down the road, entirely focused on taking one step after another, Arkady soon lost all track of time. And so it was that when he noticed the man lying halfway in the ditch, he could not say how long it had been since he had seen the truck. The marks on the road told the tale—the truck had been stopped on the shoulder, headed toward the village. When it started again, the driver had turned it around and headed in the opposite direction.

The man in the road, Arkady presumed, was the rightful owner of the truck… Ryong had stolen it from him. God only knew if he had his quarry or not. With great difficulty, Arkady lowered himself to the ground beside the injured man and felt for a pulse. He let out a sigh of relief to find the fellow was still alive. He carefully checked the man over. He certainly had a head injury. Arkady had only the barest field medic training, but he would put money on a skull fracture. The man needed help, and quickly.

The village was the closest place to get help, but the chances of someone coming by this time of the day were pretty small. The villagers were an insular bunch, a town of Old Believers who had mostly cut themselves off from the outside world, but their priest had medical training and maintained a small clinic attached to the church. Arkady was one of only a few of his generation who had ventured beyond the boundaries of that 's body craved rest, but he would allow himself only a couple of minutes. He needed to go on, for this man's sake as well as McGarrett's… not to mention his own. The villagers were an insular bunch, a town of Old Believers who had almost completely cut themselves off from the outside world. Arkady was one of only a few of his generation who had ventured beyond the boundaries of that world. His mother had some knowledge of herbal medicine - she might be able to help the injured man. And if not, surely his father would not refuse to help get him to a physician. They were few and far between in this part of the world, but there were some who had gained the trust of the Old Believers.

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It took 5-0 only a couple of hours to reach the coordinates of Ryong's tracking device. The tracks they found were not those of a man trying to hide a trail, and so they concluded that they had found the colonel's trail and not Steve's… whether Steve had been there at all, they could not tell. Ryong and his assistant had made a mess of things. Joe found the tracking device on the ground by a tree, broken.

"Hopefully that doesn't mean he got Steve and left it here it so no one else could track him," Alex commented.

"Nah," said Danny. "He wouldn't need to do that… he could have just turned it off… or left it here. My guess is, he found this instead of finding Steve and got mad so he lobbed it against the tree."

"Besides," Chin added, "the trail leads south. If they had Steve, they would've headed north, back to Mogocha."

"Let's go," Joe said. And they followed the track left by Colonel Ryong.

Lyudmila proved herself capable of moving much faster than Danny expected, and she never complained about the pace. He found his respect for this plucky doctor who had taken Steve under her wing growing by the moment. As they continued along the obvious trail, he began to notice her blossoming admiration for another member of their team, and he had to stifle a laugh. He wondered whether Joe had noticed yet that she tried to stay close to him. Well, he wouldn't say anything about it now, as long as her interest in the former SEAL was not interfering with their search. Who could know… it might turn out to be a good match! He just wished Steve were there to laugh about it with him.

Joe found the place where there had been a fight of some sort, and a chill settled in the pit of Danny's stomach. When Kono noticed the drag marks, that chill turned to a heavy rock. They followed the marks and found the bodies — Danny sighed in relief when neither one was Steve. Dr. Ivanova identified the men as Yong Byeong-Su and Rhee Chul-Gun. Yong had died of a head wound… Rhee had his neck broken — Steve's handiwork, Joe declared.

"How you know this?" Lyudmila asked, clearly shaken by the sight.

"Because it's what I taught him," Joe said briskly, and Danny realized that he had picked up on the doctor's admiration after all. He was trying to discourage it.

Apparently, such a fact was not enough to put her off. As they continued following the trail, she stayed close to Joe, hanging on his every word (few though they were). And gradually, she began to draw him out.

Kono cast Danny a sideways glance and a smile. "What do you think about that match, Brah?" she asked.

He smirked. "I think Joe may well have met his match. Let's keep quiet, just watch how it plays out."

She nodded, and Chin grinned, shaking his head. They were all glad for the amusement.

After several hours at the brisk pace they had set, the group stopped where the trail they were following crossed a road. There were clear signs that both ways had been taken not too long ago… but which way had Steve and his companion gone? And were the tire tracks that rounded the corner related? Joe studied the trail carefully, then shook his head. "Someone walked that way —" He pointed south. "And then they came back and took this road west. I see only one set of prints coming back though, and they are partly obscured… as if the person dragged something heavy behind him."

"Something heavy… like a body?" Danny frowned. "You think someone else died?"

Joe shook his head. "No… why would he bother dragging a dead body out, being slowed down by it? I think someone was hurt."

Kono had knelt by the road and picked up a bit of fabric that had caught in a thicket. "Look at this… blood… and it looks pretty fresh."

"So… someone was injured. But how many actually took the road… and what if Steve and his friend are still on the trail? And what about the tire tracks?"

Joe frowned. "I can't know for sure… four wheel drive, definitely… and it turned south here. But there's no way to know if Steve was in the vehicle."

Danny looked down the trail, then up the road. Everyone was looking to him to make a decision. If Steve were here, he would know what to do. _If Steve were here, you wouldn't need him to know, now would you?!_ He took a swig of water from his canteen and then decided. "We take the road west." He passed the canteen around so everyone else could drink, and then they started off again, following the clear path left by the drag marks.

About half an hour into their walk along the trail, they found a new set of tire marks. Someone had stopped a vehicle on the side of the road. The tracks matched what they'd seen back at the trail, but were heading the opposite direction. After looking around a bit, Chin found discarded bloody bandages and a cold campfire.

"They found help. At least at some point, he was in the truck."

Danny couldn't argue with Joe's observation. That certainly was what it looked like. But who was it that found help? He hoped it was Steve. But there was no way 5-0 could ever catch up on foot. And did the truck driver take him somewhere to the west, then drop them off and resume his original journey? Why would he go west, then just change directions? He sighed. They had to get off the ground and check things out from above. "Joe, do you think Frank could put Tangerine down anywhere around here?"

Joe surveyed the terrain. "It's a bit rough, but he could lower the rope ladder… if you're up to it." The ex-SEAL glanced at Lyudmila, as if to gauge her reaction to the suggestion.

The doctor didn't bat an eye. "I'll try anything once. Well, almost anything." She grinned up at Joe, and Danny thought she'd shed at least a decade in the hours since their hike began. If anything, the exertion seemed to have energized her. The rest of them, by comparison, were getting tired and just going on adrenaline at the moment.

Danny handed Joe the satellite phone. "Give Frank a call. It's the only way we're going to catch up to them now."

Joe shrugged, took the phone, and made the call. Half an hour later, Tangerine hovered above them and a rope ladder dropped down. Joe climbed up first, followed by Lyudmila. Alex went next, then Kono, Chin, and Danny brought up the rear. Danny hated every minute of the climb, but he wasn't about to complain after the doctor managed it with a look of exhilaration on her face! When Joe pulled him into the helo and he took his seat, panting for breath, he got a look at her expression and could see that she was absolutely glowing. Yeah, Joe had definitely met his match in Lyudmila Ivanova.

Kono nudged Danny and nodded in Joe's direction. When Danny looked, he almost busted out laughing. Now Joe was staring at the doctor like some love-struck teenager. Danny found himself imagining their honeymoon… skydiving, a safari, or maybe infiltrating some secret compound in the Middle East. Heck, why not all three? He shook his head and tried not to meet Joe's eyes, instead turning his attention to the road below them.

About twenty minutes later, he saw something that piqued his curiosity — a Russian officer hobbling along, clearly injured. He struggled, but his face was fixed on the onion-domed church of the village visible not far ahead. A short distance behind him lay another man, dead or injured. Danny thumped Joe's arm and pointed down at the soldier. Not far ahead, the road ran alongside an open—and, thank God, flat!—meadow. "Tell Frank to set this thing down!"

Joe nodded and gave Frank the word. A few minutes later, Bama was setting Tangerine down in the field beside the road. The soldier had turned toward them and was now moving in their direction. Danny jumped out as soon as it was safe and ran toward the officer, his hand on his weapon just in case.

"Muy politsia!" Danny shouted. "Amerikanskaya politsia!"

Alex had jumped out right after him and drew alongside him in time to hear his declaration. She scoffed, and Danny rolled his eyes. "What… it's one of the only things I know how to say!"

She shook her head and laughed again. "Depending who hears it, it might not be a very smart thing to say around here!"

The Russian serviceman responded in excellent English. "I am Sergeant Arkady Vasilyevich Dushko. Greetings."

Danny nodded, but still kept his hand on the gun, ready to draw if he had to. "Detective Danny Williams. Hello." He pointed at Dushko's bandaged leg. "Looks like you're injured there, Sergeant."

Dushko glanced down and then back at Danny and shrugged. "It's just a scratch."

At that, Danny almost laughed. "You sure your name isn't McGarrett?" Dushko just stared at him, and Danny took it for confusion. "Never mind. We're looking for our friend. He's injured. He may be with a Korean fellow called Ryong. You seen him?"

The soldier tipped his head at the American policeman. "I know the name McGarrett. I was assigned to help Colonel Ryong capture him. Ryong commandeered a truck and drove off to the east… I saw him some time ago. Then I found the man there… I presume Ryong knocked him unconscious and left him for dead. I couldn't see what was in the bed of the truck, but it is a good bet it was your friend, that he had found help and ended up captured. I am on my way to get help for the truck owner and then catch up to Ryong. I plan to borrow a horse from a friend in the village down the road. Your McGarrett has led the Colonel on a — how do you say — a merry chase. I would hate to try to track him when he is healthy!"

Now it was Danny's turn to stare, sparks of anger blazing in his eyes. "You are Ryong's assistant?! You helped that —"

Arkady stiffened visibly and his chin came up as he returned Danny's glare. "I _was_ assisting the colonel. Until he began speaking of murder… and then he shot me." He gestured toward the blood-soaked bandage. "Now I owe him for this."

"Why'd he shoot you?" Part of Danny wanted to trust the man. He seemed honest, and Danny thought himself a pretty good judge of character, but he worried about the risks. Still, he took his hand off the stock of his gun and waited for an answer.

Arkady shrugged. "Because I was careless. The rat escaped from the bonds I had placed him in and he had a hidden gun I missed when I confiscated his other gun and his rifle."

"So… your idea of assisting the colonel involved tying him up?"

Arkady snorted. "No rope… zip ties. And it's a long story, better told over a vodka once your McGarrett is safe. It is enough to say, I was trying to stop him. I want to save your friend." He flushed slightly. "To my shame, Ryong escaped and commandeered the truck before I could overtake him. I am a sniper and should have been able to take him out with one shot, but a bird — er — spoiled my aim. It flew by just as I fired and —" He made an exploding noise and motioned with his hands. The picture his gestures painted was graphic, to say the least.

Danny watched as Alex turned a pale shade of green. As for himself, he just shook his head. They had stood here talking long enough, and he was itching to get on the move. "We didn't see them, and we came from the east, so they must have reached the junction and turned south before we turned onto this road… we were walking until our friend picked us up a short time ago." He nodded toward the helicopter. "Why don't you come with us… we can squeeze a couple more into Tangerine, and we have a doctor with us to help you and your injured friend."

Arkady looked over Danny's shoulder at the ancient helicopter, and Danny figured he was probably weighing his chances of survival if he went with them. Apparently, he wasn't too worried, because he hardly hesitated. "I agree. Perhaps we can find them." He gave a wolfish grin. "And then Ryong and I will have a… chat." He tossed the bullet up and down a few times before pocketing it, then winked as he shrugged. "Besides, flying beats walking… unless you crash!" Danny's eyes went wide and Arkady grinned.

"Don't even suggest that! And as for your chat with Ryong, you may have to stand in line, my friend! Come on… let's go!" With that, Danny gestured for Joe to come help him with the injured driver. Soon, they were all sprinting back to the rattly old death trap that Frank Bama dared to call a helicopter.


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note: I meant to have this up a few days ago, but was laid low by a nasty cold bug, and my writing was slowed down a bit. Thank you to my awesome beta reader, katbybee, and to my son, who gave me some great suggestions when I read the chapter to him.**

 **I feel the need to add a note here about Joe White. Really, I'm still reeling over the latest episode of H50. I just wasn't ready to bid him farewell.**

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 **Glossary**

 **Russian - English**

Spasibo bolshoye - Many thanks

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As the truck rumbled along the rutted road, Ji opened his eyes and looked around. He could tell that Imyarek was beginning to wake up. His eyes were still closed, but he was grunting and moaning. Ji scooted over next to him and spoke softly in his ear. "Keep quiet. Ryong has us… he stole a truck and he plans to take us back to Pyongyang. We must find a way to stop him."

"Gotta… jump… run."

"No. You are hurt too bad… jumping from this truck will kill you." While he spoke, Ji kept working at the ropes. The vet had secured them to a rail installed along the side of the truck bed, but he'd made the knots fairly loose and Ryong had not bothered to check them. Once Ji had himself free, he untied Imyarek too, then reached into his jacket for the pistol he had secreted there earlier in the day. His hand quickly closed on the cool smooth stock of the weapon. He withdrew it and held it close.

Ji moved carefully, quietly, keeping his body crouched low to avoid being caught in the rear view mirror. If his plan was to work, Ryong could not find out that he was free until the very last moment.

He prayed to the God of his father for courage. What he was about to do flew in the face of all his training from early childhood. His parents had taught him respect for authority, and his teachers had drilled into him subservience to men of rank and status, like Ryong. Yet here he was about to raise a gun on a colonel and shoot him! The thought turned his stomach, but so did the thought of letting Imyarek die. Ji had not known him long and knew nothing of who he was before the injuries that had stolen his memory, but he had no doubt that Imyarek was a good man, a better man than Colonel Ryong.

"Kill… th' bastard!" Imyarek's rough whisper startled Ji, who hadn't even noticed his friend was watching.

He slowly rose to his knees, for the first time moving into the line of sight afforded by the rear view mirror. He raised the gun, took aim, and then froze.

"Do it!" Imyarek hissed. But the voice of Ji's father in his mind drowned out the voice of his friend. _All life is sacred, my son. Better to lay your own life down than to steal life from another._ He eased his finger away from the trigger.

In that instant, the truck lurched and Ji was thrown off balance. He toppled, landing hard on the cold metal floor of the truck bed. Then he felt the vehicle swerve sharply, then tilt upward. As he prayed for protection, he managed to wrap his arms around his friend. In one terrifying moment, they were thrown clear of the truck. Ji managed to roll at the last minute so that he could cushion Imyarek's landing, instead of ending up on top of him.

Ji lay stunned for a long moment, then carefully eased Imyarek to the ground. His side ached, and he thought he might have broken a rib or two, but other than that and a few bumps and bruises, he seemed to be all right. He couldn't find the pistol anywhere, but the pack they'd carried all the way from Urusha had landed only a few meters away.  
He picked it up and pulled it onto one shoulder, then looked around to get his bearings. At the edge of the woods, about 50 meters away, he noticed a small hut. He figured it must be empty — the wreck had been loud and would have attracted attention if anyone was inside. He'd heard of small cabins providing shelter for hunters, and figured this must be such a thing.

Before turning his attention to Imyarek, he glanced into the cab of the overturned truck. Ryong was there, deathly still, his head tilted at an odd angle. Ji had not been able to take the man's life, but he also could not bring himself to mourn its passing. "Good riddance," he muttered as he pulled himself to his knees and moved to crouch beside his friend and check him over from head to toe. To his amazement, he found no new injuries, but even so, Imyarek did not respond to his poking and prodding. Ji shook the man's shoulder. "Imyarek? Can you hear me? The colonel is dead. We must get to shelter."

Evening was drawing near and the temperature dropping. Ji needed to get Imyarek warmed up. What he really wanted was to get him into that hut and get a fire going. He tried again to waken his friend, but without success. Ignoring the pain in his side, he bent to grasp Imyarek by the ankles. He could not hope to lift him, but for a short distance, he could certainly drag him. The ground was mostly smooth, with only a few rocks or tree roots here and there, easily avoided.

Walking backward so he could keep an eye on Imyarek, Ji moved slowly toward the hut. He figured it must be empty — the crash had been loud and would have attracted attention if anyone lived there. Still, when he reached the door, he knocked, just in case. No one answered. He lay Imyarek's feet down, then jiggled the door handle. It was unlocked, and the door swung open with a soft creak.

The furnishing inside the single-room hut was sparse—a wobbly table, a couple of tree-stump stools, two low-slung cots near the fireplace, each with a tattered blanket draped over a thin mattress. A propane-powered camp stove stood by one wall. The hut lacked electricity and was illuminated only by the fading afternoon light that came through one dusty window at the front of the structure. To Ji, it was as good as a mansion. He managed to get Imyarek onto the cot, then shook out the blanket before covering him with it. A stack of firewood and a basket of kindling sat beside the hearth, no doubt left there by some previous occupant, and a box of matches was on the windowsill.

Ji grinned. "Tonight, my imperialist friend, we sleep in luxury." He took the box of matches and arranged firewood and kindling on the hearth. Long ago, his father had taught him that if one built the fire upside down — with the kindling at the bottom and the primary fuel on top, the smoke would be minimal. Even with Ryong dead, Ji knew they should not advertise their presence here. He had no interest in being found by someone who would send him back to the camp. He patted on the knife that remained hidden inside his jacket. He had lost the pistol, but the knife gave him a sense of security.

He reached into the pack he wore under his jacket. With Imyarek injured, he hadn't been able to take the time to save any of the bear meat. It was a sad waste, but his friend's life had to take priority. In the pack, though, he had a few strips of dried rabbit meat that would do for the moment. Tomorrow, if Imyarek was better, Ji would go hunting. He glanced at Imyarek. The man was far too thin. Ji suspected he had been slipping a portion of his ration back into the pack instead of eating it all. And yet he would always insist that Ji eat his full ration. He'd done the same with Su. Ji swallowed hard at thoughts of his best friend. He had not yet taken time to mourn the loss of the man who had become like a brother to him over the time they had spent working at the logging camp. They'd had great hopes for the future. Su had never explained why he finally agreed to the escape even though it would mean punishment for his parents back home. He'd received a letter the same day Ji learned that his wife and son had gone to China, but he had not shared the contents and Ji had watched him crumple the pages and use them for kindling the first night after they left the camp. Ji supposed Su would have told him in time, but now he would never know.

He stared at the strip of meat in his hand, then broke it in half and put one part of it back in the pack. He bit off a small piece of the remainder and chewed it. His stomach growled, eager for more, but he took his time with it, determined to make it last as long as possible. He would put himself on half-rations for now and make sure that Imyarek ate more. He needed good nutrition to help him recover. With Su's death, he had lost one brother. He would not lose another.

Ji knelt by the cot and shook Imyarek by the shoulder. "My brother, you must eat," he said softly.

With a weak groan, Imyarek blinked open his eyes. "What... happened?"

"Where should I start?" Ji asked, his eyes sparking with good humor. He passed a strip of meat to Imyarek. "You decided to fight a bear. I found help, but we were captured by Ryong and he was about to take us back to Pyongyang. He wrecked the truck and we were thrown free. He is dead now."

"You're sure? Did you check?" Imyarek nibbled on the strip of meat, then pushed it away only half eaten. "Not hungry."

Ji ignored his question about Ryong and thrust the food toward him. "You must eat." He remembered his mother telling him the same thing when he was a small child, and he had imitated her firm tone. Imyarek reluctantly took the meat back and stuck it in his mouth again. This time, he finished the entire piece.

"Good," Ji said. "Tomorrow I will hunt, and then I will make you a stew. That will be better than dried rabbit."

"Sounds good." Imyarek shifted slightly on the cot. "Let's practice your English."

Ji chuckled as he shifted languages. He only knew a little English, but Imyarek was a good teacher. "Hawaiian too. I will be... what is it you say... paniolo? And my stew will be ono."

"Ono, yes." Imyarek yawned and his words began to slur slightly. Ji watched as his eyelids began to droop. "I c'n almost taste it…" And he was asleep. Ji smiled softly. He hoped they would make it to Hawaii together, that Imyarek would find his place in the world again. For the moment, though, it was enough to be safe and warm in this little hut. He stretched out on the other cot and allowed sleep to carry him into pleasant dreams.

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Danny swallowed his fear as he sat in the open door of the helicopter, his hand wrapped around a hold bar in a white-knuckled grip to keep him from falling while he watched for any sign of the pickup truck Arkady and Semyenov had described. He glanced upward briefly, frowning at the thought that darkness fell early here at this time of year. They had maybe an hour of good light left before they would have to give up for the night.

A glint of light reflecting off something below caught his eye just after he turned his gaze back to the ground. He leaned out just a little, trying to get a better look. It wasn't water - it had to be some sort of metal or glass, but the rise of the road prevented him from getting a good view. "Bama," he said into the headset that allowed him to communicate with the pilot. "Take us down a bit. I see something!" Frank obliged, turning in a wide circle and lowering the altitude so Danny could get a better look. As he circled, Danny was soon able to see a pickup truck, turned on its side. "Hey, Joe" he shouted over the roar of the rotors, and he pointed downward. "There it is! Bama, find a place to land!"

There was no place flat enough to land Tangerine right near the pickup, but there was a good flat stretch of road about half a mile away. Frank said he would set down there and they could hike back to the wrecked vehicle. Danny shifted slightly back from the door. He sure didn't want to risk falling out if he didn't have to. In that moment, he felt a sudden lurch and an instant of panic as Tangerine stalled. Danny flung his arms out, seeking purchase on anything that was fixed in place, but he felt himself sliding toward the opening. Dammit... of course he had to be in the bucket of bolts the day she decided to give out on Bama.

A hand curled around his arm in an iron grip, stopping his slide and pulling him back from the opening. Danny looked up into Joe's face, uncertain whether to be furious at the man for getting them into this mess or thankful to him for saving his hide. He settled on furious. _Still might die, after all._ In the seconds following that thought, he found himself becoming hyper-aware of everything that was happening. Lyudmila screamed and Joe grabbed her close without ever letting go of Danny's arm. Kono, Alex, and Chin huddled together, preparing for a crash landing. Arkady dragged himself across the floor of the helicopter to Semyenov and crouched protectively over him. And all the while, the helicopter was plunging downward until finally it plowed into the earth with a crumpling of steel. The shudder on impact wrenched Danny's body, twisting him like a pretzel, and still Joe kept hold of him, releasing him only when everything was still.

For a moment, everyone was silent. The acrid odor of smoke quickly pulled Danny out of his stupor. His whole body hurt, but as far as he could tell, nothing was broken. Though still shaky, he scrambled to his feet and glanced around at the others, quickly gauging their conditions. Joe — well, he was practically indestructible — was already up and by Dr. Ivanova's side as she checked on Arkady and Semyenov. Arkady seemed no worse for wear, but Semyenov's breathing was awful rough. Alex was shaking Kono, trying to wake her. Frank slumped unconscious over the controls, bleeding from a gash on his head. Chin moved in next to Alex and tried to pick Kono up, but his right arm was hanging funny — Danny would bet anything it was broken. "Chin, get Alex off... I'll bring Kono." Danny scooped the young woman into his arms. "Joe, get 'em off and get Bama!" He shouted. "We've got to hurry!"

He jumped down to the ground with Kono and moved a safe distance away from Tangerine to lay her on the ground. "Stay with her!" he told Alex and Chin, and then he hurried back to the helicopter, praying it wouldn't explode before everyone else got out. He climbed in and helped Joe and Lyudmila get Semyenov and Arkady to safety. Then he and Joe went back for Bama.

The pilot was awake by this point and combative. "I'm not goin' anywhere!" He swung a fist at Joe, but Joe caught it and held tight.

With his free hand, Joe slapped Frank hard across the face. "Get it together, Bama! We're all getting off this thing now!"

The slap seemed to have knocked some sense into Bama, and he became suddenly docile. Together, Danny and Joe managed to get him off the helicopter just before flames reached the fuel tank. Danny threw himself over Kono and Alex as the fiery explosion sent debris flying through the air. He gritted his teeth against the pain as bits of hot metal rained down on his back and neck. Thankfully, nothing large struck him — he might have some discomfort from the burns for a few days, but he had no serious injuries.

When he judged it safe, Danny sat up and looked around. They could feel the blazing heat from the burning helicopter. "We've gotta do something or that'll set the whole forest ablaze," he murmured. But what could they do? They had no source of water, no possible way to put out a fire of that size.

"Into the ditch!" Joe shouted above the roar of the flames. Danny picked up Kono and ran for the ditch at the side of the road, Alex and Chin right next to him. Joe carried Semyenov, and Arkady limped along with Lyudmila to support him. But Frank turned and ran back toward the helicopter.

"Bama, you idiot! Get back here!" Danny shouted. He stood by the edge of the ditch, watching in horror. Frank stopped just short of the flames and stood there gaping as his beloved Tangerine burned. Joe lay Semyenov in the ditch, then went to his friend and put an arm around his shoulders. Danny watched as Joe gently turned Frank around and guided him back to the safety of the ditch.

Once they were all settled and had dug in as best they could, Danny turned to Joe. "I have to go look for Steve!"

"Don't be a fool, Danny. You aren't going anywhere."

"I have to! The pickup is upwind, so the fire will be going in the opposite direction. Hopefully they're somewhere nearby."

"And if the wind changes?"

Danny rolled his eyes. "Then it's even more important — they might not be able to get away on their own. You take care of these guys and I'll come back as soon as I can."

"I'm going with you," Alex insisted.

"No way."

"You're taking her, Danny, or you aren't going," Joe snapped. "Just... be careful." He eyed the fire, then turned his gaze to the cloudy sky. "If I'm reading that sky right, we're going to have a good soaking rain before long. That will take care of the fire. You two go find Steve. Do you still have your sat phone?"

Danny patted the device attached to his belt. "Got it right here."

"Good." Joe nodded his approval. "I've got mine too. As soon as it's feasible, we'll come after you. Check in with me when you find them. If you need Dr. Ivanova, we'll bring her to you."

"Thanks." Danny turned to Alex. "All right, then. Let's go."

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Lyudmila Ivanova bent over Artyom Semyenov. She had rolled him on his side when the seizure started so that he wouldn't aspirate. As far as she could tell, the crash had made his head injury worse, and here they were stuck in the wilderness with only a meager first aid kit. She was glad at least she'd had the presence of mind to grab that as Joe was hurrying her off the helicopter.

She sat back as her patient's seizure subsided. If she had access to her clinic back home in St. Petersburg, she could diagnose and treat him appropriately. She suspected a cerebral hemorrhage but without the proper equipment, she could not be sure, and there was little she could do for him but wait and hope and offer what comfort she could. She stroked his head and then crossed herself and uttered a soft prayer.

Sergeant Arkady Vasilyevich sat on Semyenov's other side. Lyudmila was impressed with the man. Even with his leg injured, his first thought was not for himself, but for this man he had apparently never met before today. He held the man's hand and sang quietly. Lyudmila strained to make out the words. She couldn't hear everything, but it sounded like an ancient hymn.

Only when Semyenov drew in his last ragged breath and then expelled it along with his spirit did the sergeant let go of his hand. "At least he did not cross the threshold alone," Arkady said softly.

Lyudmila swallowed hard. She hated defeat, especially when it was so unnecessary. Semyenov had acted as a good Samaritan, stopping to help someone in need, and for that kindness, he had died. She felt Joe White's eyes studying her, and she turned to look up at him as she blinked back tears. "We must take body to truck. I hope someone find him and inform family."

Joe nodded in solemn agreement. "That will take us away from the fire, too... and put us closer to Danny and Alex. Check over Kono, Chin, and Frank first, and make sure the sergeant can manage the walk. I'll go cut a decent crutch for him." He slipped from the ditch and out of sight.

Lyudmila turned to Kono, who had awakened a few minutes before. She was pestering Chin and Arkady to let her get up, but they were keeping her still. The doctor nodded her thanks to them and, banishing thoughts of her lost patient, settled next to Kono to check her over. She had a lump on one side of her head, but no sign of any skull fracture. Though she complained of a headache, she was coherent and her memory was intact. Lyudmila was fairly certain she had a mild concussion, but she wished she could confirm that with an MRI. "I think you be good in time... but I not give pain medication. You can sit up?"

Kono nodded, then winced. As quickly as the expression of pain had come, it was gone. "I'm fine," she said, and she flashed a wan smile at Lyudmila. "We should go soon. I want to find Steve."

"We go when all are treated," the doctor said. "But now you rest a little." Lyudmila's next patient was Chin. She needed no x-ray to see that his arm was broken at the wrist. Thankfully, the bone had not poked through the skin, but it was clearly misshapen. His color was good, which told her that his circulation was not impaired. She nodded to Frank. He was still pale, and possibly in shock, but his injury was superficial and minor. Lyudmila hoped that getting him busy helping her would get his mind off his loss. "I must make splint. Find two limbs about this thick..." She demonstrated with her hands. "And this long."

Frank nodded. "Of course." He pulled out a flask from his pocket and took a swig, then climbed out of the ditch.

Lyudmila reached into the first aid kit and pulled out an instant cold pack, then turned back to Chin. "Hold wrist above heart... and keep cold pack on it until Frank return."

Chin nodded and took the cold pack, pressing it into place over his broken bone. Lyudmila rummaged through the first aid kit again. She found an arm splint that would be useful, but the only pain reliever she could find was some ibuprofen. It would have to do. "Here," she said, and she handed him two pills. "Take this. It will ease pain and bring down swelling."

"Thanks." Chin took the pills and swallowed them dry.

Lyudmila cleaned her hands with wipes from the first aid kit, then moved on to her next patient, the Sergeant. She removed the makeshift pressure bandage he had placed over the entry and exit wounds, then used alcohol swabs from the first aid kit to clean each wound thoroughly. Finally, she bandaged it. "You were fortunate," she told the sergeant. "The bullet may have nicked the bone, but it does not appear to have broken it. When you return to civilization, you must have it x-rayed and properly treated in a hospital."

"Spasibo bolshoye, Lyudmila Mikhailovna," the sergeant said, and he nicked his head politely in her direction.

When Frank and Joe returned together, Lyudmila splinted Chin's arm and then helped him put it in the sling. Finally, she cleaned the gash on Frank's head and closed it with a couple of butterfly bandages. Then she turned to Joe. "You are hurt?"

"I'm fine." He smiled down at her. "Are you all right, Mila?"

Mila… her father used to call her that. She liked the sound of it on Joe's lips. Never before had a man paid such attention to her. It made her feel weak in the knees. She almost stumbled, but his hand shot out and caught her.

"Yes," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper, "I am also fine. We go now?"

His gaze locked with hers and she felt as if time stopped and everything around them just faded away. _You are a fool, Lyudmila Mikhailovna,_ she told herself. _Why would such a man take any interest in you? Besides, this is neither the time nor the place._ She forced herself to break eye contact and looked down at her dusty shoes.

Before she could move, though, his hand brushed against her cheek. She shivered. He pulled the hand back, looking suddenly awkward and unsure of himself. "Yes... we go now."

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Imyarek sat bolt upright. Something had awakened him from a sound sleep, sending a surge of adrenaline through his body. That adrenaline masked the pain of movement. He had heard something. He wasn't sure what. A blur across the room moved, and he knew Ji was awake too. "You heard that?"

"I heard something... not sure what it was."

Imyarek felt inside the waistband of his pants, taking comfort in the pistol hidden there. He had landed on top of it when the truck rolled and had instinctively secreted it away. It felt right, somehow, to have a weapon at the ready. Hazy memories played at the edge of his thoughts, never quite coming into focus. The adrenaline had subsided now and he felt a twinge of pain, but he chose to ignore it. He swung his legs over the side of the cot and stood on trembling legs. "We should go out… investigate…"

"No." Ji's firm tone surprised him. The Korean man was generally soft-spoken, happy to follow Imyarek's lead. Perhaps that was why Imyarek took him seriously and sat down on the cot again, rather than insisting on having his way. "You are injured. You stay… I will go outside."

Imyarek would not argue. He only said, "Be careful," and he gripped the edge of the cot with his good hand, forcefully willing himself to remain upright. He listened to the door creak open, squinted his eyes in an attempt to make Ji's blurry figure a bit clearer as he stepped through the door.

He waited, feet tapping the floor with nervous energy, every instinct screaming at him that he needed to be out there with his friend, that he needed to push himself beyond the pain of his injuries. Ten seconds… twenty… thirty… one minute… two… and then he forced himself to his feet again and lurched across the hut toward the door.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Ji poked his head out the door and peered into the clearing. The sun had come to rest just above the treetops and was slowly sinking below them. To the east, the cloudy sky was a deep indigo, but to the west it was a mixture of yellow and orange.

He looked first to the wrecked pickup, curious whether the loud noise that had awakened him and Imyarek had come from it somehow. He saw nothing remarkable about it though… at least, not at first. He stiffened and a sudden chill came over him when he realized that the cab of the truck was empty. Ryong was gone.

He'd been so certain the colonel was dead, that he hadn't bothered to take a closer look. He glanced left and then right, but saw no sign of the man. He felt someone coming up behind him and almost jumped out of his skin, but then realized it was Imyarek. He was surprised it had taken so long for his friend to follow him. "Ryong is gone. I was sure he was dead, but…" His voice faded.

Imyarek put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't waste time worrying about what you missed. We have two choices — we wait here and face Ryong or we leave now and hope to elude him. What do you think?"

Ji frowned. "I would rather we deal with him now. When we leave this place, I do not wish to be looking over my shoulder, wondering if he is coming for us."

"I feel the same way. Let's go inside and make —" He stopped suddenly and stared into the distance, his whole face crinkling as his eyes squinted up in the effort to see.

"What is it? Ryong?"

He shook his head. "No… It's just… I thought I heard something… someone… familiar."

"From the camp?"

He shook his head again. "No… from… before. I don't know. Just a feeling I can't explain. Listen."

Ji listened carefully. At first he heard only the trilling of insects and the whisper of wind. But soon he heard voices… and he thought they were speaking in English. "Americans, I think. Should we get inside?"

"No. Tell me what you see."

Ji watched, and soon he saw two people come along the road, walking toward the pickup truck. Their full attention was on the truck and apparently they had not noticed the hut yet. "There is a man with yellow hair and a woman with red hair. They are going toward the vehicle."

Imyarek stepped past Ji, his gaze distant. He stopped and tilted his head as if listening, then took another step forward. Ji ran up behind him and took his arm, intent on making sure that he did not stumble.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Guided more by sound than by sight, with Ji to keep him from tripping, Imyarek moved quickly across the distance from the hut toward the truck. He knew that voice, or he ought to know it. He'd heard it in his dreams and tried in vain to figure its place in his life. He knew that a name went with that voice and it was on the tip of his tongue.

"Book 'em, D… D… Danno," he murmured, then shouted. "Book 'em, Danno!" The memories hadn't all slid into place yet, but he knew that phrase and the man with that voice went together.

The distant blur straightened. Imyarek wished he could see better, but he could tell it was a person and moving toward him now.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Danny had just begun studying the ground around the pickup when he heard the voice he'd been missing for the last few months. He didn't realize until he heard it just how much he'd been longing for it. Tears stung his eyes as he looked up to see Steve standing there with a Korean man who had to be Pak Hun Ji. Steve was filthy and wore a scraggly beard and he held one arm close to his chest in a makeshift sling. His clothes hung in tatters from his gaunt frame. But he was alive and to Danny, he had never looked better.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Another blur of movement behind the man… Imyarek saw a flash of red and figured it was the woman Ji had mentioned. But Ji stiffened beside him and stretched upward to whisper in his ear. "Ryong… he has the woman… gun to her head."

Imyarek reached with his good hand to draw the pistol from his waistband. He raised the weapon and aimed it toward the blurred figure, his finger almost, but not quite, pressing the trigger. First he had to be sure of his aim. He had to get Ryong talking, so he could judge exactly where to shoot. He wasn't sure why, but he knew he could do it. "Give it up, Ryong," he said. "Let her go."

The blur in front — his friend, right? — stopped moving. "It's... it's OK, Steve. I... I'm not Ryong… I'm Danny. I thought you remembered me. Put the gun down, Buddy." Imyarek could hear the concern in his voice.

"Yes, McGarrett." Ryong's sneering voice told Imyarek exactly what he needed to know. "Put _my_ gun down. I'm not sure how you got hold of it after that stinking sergeant stole it from me, but it isn't loaded. Toss it this way and do as I say, and I will spare the woman and your friend."

"Alex!" That was Danny… Imyarek adjusted his aim slightly and then fired. He watched with satisfaction as Ryong sank to the ground.

The woman pulled free. "Danny!"

Only then did Imyarek realize that Ryong was not the only one who had fallen. Danny had dropped to his knees in the dirt.

Danny groaned. "Really, Steve? You just had to go all Super SEAL on me, didn't you?"

Imyarek wasn't sure who Steve was… wasn't sure what going Super SEAL meant. "You OK? he asked. "I didn't mean to hit you. Couldn't see that you were in the line of fire."

"Yeah, yeah," Danny said, craning his head to look at his left shoulder. Blood had begun to stain his torn shirt. "It's just a graze. Not like it's the first time. I'll be fine. But whose bright idea was it to give the blind Neanderthal a gun?!"

"Technically, I'm not blind." Imyarek wasn't sure why, but the urge to argue with this guy was strong. "And I'm not a Neanderthal either. And no one gave me the gun… I found it." He blinked hard. His head pounded and his back stung and he really needed to lie down again. "Maybe you could help me up?" he said, holding out a hand to the man he'd accidentally shot.

Danny snorted. "Help… help you?! You shot me, Steve! I come all the way to this God-forsaken place to find you… and the first thing you do when we see each other again is to shoot me… and then you ask me to help you up? You haven't changed, have you? You're still an animal and a danger magnet and you really ought to apologize for shooting me!"

Imyarek shrugged. "It's not like I meant to. I was aiming for the colonel there… You just happened to be in the way. Now, it seems you've got an advantage on me. You know who I am, but other than your name, I'm not sure who you are."

Before Danny could answer, Imyarek heard the sound of several people running toward them. "Danny! Steve!" Another familiar voice. "What happened?! We heard a gunshot!"

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

"I'll tell you what happened, Joe," Danny grumbled, just as the first fat raindrop splatted on his face. "This Neanderthal went all Super SEAL on me and someone made the mistake of letting him have a gun."

"Well, next time I won't bother trying to save your friend's life," Steve grumped. "In case you didn't notice, Ryong was going to kill her… probably you too."

"I have my own weapon, you idiot. I can take care of myself," Danny snarked back. "Which is more than I can say for you." He fell silent. Steve was sitting there, his hands to his temples, pain written all over his face. Danny felt ashamed. Steve had acted on his best instincts to save Alex and stop Ryong. "Hey… I'm sorry," Danny offered. "I'm amazed you got him."

"Book 'em Danno!" Ji called. "And all friends. Rain come! We go in hut… is small, but warm and dry. This way!"

Danny got to his feet. His wound hurt, but it wasn't too bad. He helped Steve up and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "It's good to have you back, Buddy. We'll figure everything else out in time." A loud clap of thunder rent the air and the downpour began in earnest. Danny heaved a sigh of relief. This would take care of the fire. "C'mon, you Neanderthal. Let's get inside and you can get reacquainted with the whole crew."


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note: I'd like to wish a Happy New Year to all my readers! May 2019 bring you all many blessings! Thank you to my beta reader, katbybee, for all her help and inspiration for this chapter and to all the readers who have posted reviews and sent me messages.**

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Hungry, cold, and exhausted, the small group crowded into the tiny hut. They had nothing to eat except a couple of candy bars Kono had in her coat pocket and a handful of dried rabbit meat that Steve's Korean friend produced and offered around.

Sitting at the small table on one of the tree stump stools, Danny watched Dr. Ivanova riffle through the contents of the first aid kit in search of supplies to treat the sizable groove the bullet had left in his left shoulder.

Not particularly keen on getting stitched up in this grimy, definitely-not-sterile, probably rat-infested little hut, Danny had tried to brush away her concern. "Steve's put me through a lot worse over the years. Just slap a big Bandaid on it and be done with it."

But Dr. Ivanova just pressed a firm hand down on his shoulder — thankfully not the injured one — to hold him in place. "I will decide after I examine."

Danny knew when he had no choice but to surrender. Clearly, Dr. Ivanova was not accustomed to patients telling her no. "Fine," he muttered as he pulled off his ruined sweater and settled down to let her take a look.

"Hold light for me," she instructed. He picked up his Maglite and shone it over his left shoulder, adjusting the angle until it met her satisfaction.

After some poking and prodding, she sighed. "This I cannot stitch. And I have no more dressing."

"Duct tape."

Danny looked up at the sound of Steve's voice, his brow knitting in consternation. "Duct tape? Are you nuts?!"

"Just stop whining and slap some duct tape on it. It'll stop the bleeding and keep out infection—"

"Yeah, and hurt like hell coming off!" Danny shook his head in disbelief, though at the same time he felt a sense of relief. This was vintage Steve, and Danny was thrilled with every annoying little quirk that told him his Super SEAL friend was still there.

Joe moved to help Lyudmila, quickly locating a roll of duct tape in a side pocket of the kit. He handed it to her. "At least he remembers his training. It does work," he said as he reached into the pocket again and pulled out a package of gauze pads, which he handed over as well. "Just put one of these over it first. Don't worry… they're sterile."

Keeping his face angled downward, Danny surreptitiously watched Steve while Dr. Ivanova did her work. Steve was sitting on the hearth with Pak Hun Ji next to him. After putting in his two cents about treating Danny's injury, he had gone back to talking quietly in Korean with his friend from the camp. As far as Danny could tell, Steve was more comfortable with that language now than he was with English.

As the doctor carefully cleaned his wound, Danny found himself scrutinizing Steve's expression. _Not quite aneurysm face… no, that's constipated face. And the way he's bouncing his fist off his knee… he's definitely uncomfortable._ He wasn't the only one — Chin and Kono and Joe all hung back, talking quietly, occasionally glancing in Steve's direction. Danny knew he had to do something.

"Hang on a sec, Doc," he said as he put a hand up to stop her for a moment. "I brought some stuff I thought might trigger memories. OK if I show that to him?" She had warned them before they ever found him that they should not simply feed Steve memories, but should let things come back naturally. He hoped his idea would work with that advice. On a whim, before they'd left Honolulu, he had grabbed some items he'd found when sorting through Steve's things — a small stack of photos, his 5-0 badge, a Navy SEAL citation pin, a drawing Charlie had made for him a couple years ago. He was glad he'd kept them on his person, or they might have burned up with Tangerine.

"Yes, I think that be very good." She pushed his hand aside. "When I am finish."

A second later, Danny hissed and jerked away as another wash of hydrogen peroxide splashed over the wound. "Warn me first, why don't you!" Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Arkady and Steve both smirking. "What?!"

"Can't take a little pain, Danno?" Steve asked.

Danny rolled his eyes. "Don't call me that, Steve. It's Danny. Got it? And of course I can take a little pain… I've put up with you all these years, haven't I?"

"Wouldn't know. Are you always such a ray of sunshine?"

"Tell me yourself… when you remember." Danny was frustrated with himself for snapping, but he just couldn't help it. Even with amnesia, the man had a way of getting in his head and driving him nuts! But Danny knew he needed to keep his cool. He didn't want to stress Steve out and make things worse. He grabbed Dr. Ivanova's wrist. "Hang on just a second, please." He reached down to open the pouch at his belt and pulled out the plastic bag he'd packed along with the passports.

Even though the sun hadn't yet sunk below the horizon, with just one dingy window and no electricity, the hut was dark, but between the fire on the hearth and the Maglite, which was now standing on one end of the small table, Danny figured Steve could get a good enough look at everything. "Hey, Joe," he said. "Why don't you get Steve over here to take a look at this stuff?" He tossed the bag to the other end of the table.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Imyarek — or Steve, as he was beginning to accept was his proper name — had been sitting on the hearth, trying to make at least a little sense of everything. He wanted to remember, and there were things that seemed familiar about these people. How else would he have come up with the name Danno, after all? But he felt as if he were trying to put together a puzzle with only a few pieces available. And why did he feel such a need to fight with Danny? Seemed like every time the guy opened his mouth, he said something that just made Steve want to aggravate him. And he kept rising to the bait. _I don't mind that much, though… it's nice to have at least one person not walking on eggshells around me._

Then there was Joe, the one who seemed to make Dr. Ivanova's voice all soft and buttery. Steve wished he could remember him. Joe hadn't said much since he'd come into the hut with the others; he'd held himself apart, talking in a low murmur with his friend the helicopter pilot. Steve wasn't sure how to talk with the terse older man, wasn't sure how to read his emotions. Joe seemed to keep them tightly controlled, much as Steve himself preferred to do. Steve had pegged him as military early on, or maybe CIA. _Is Joe my dad?_ he wondered. _If so, it must really hurt that I don't remember._ Apparently, they didn't share a surname, but Joe _had_ called him son a few times already, so it was a possibility he had to consider.

After the latest exchange with Danny, Joe offered him a hand up. Steve pushed it away. "I can manage," he said. Supporting himself with a hand on Ji's shoulder, he stood up and took a few steps over to the table. After Danny's little display of pain a few minutes ago, Steve wasn't about to let on how much he was hurting.

Once he was settled, he turned back to Ji. The man had become a fast friend to him over the last several days. Amid the awkwardness and anxiety of this meeting with forgotten friends, Ji had been an anchor, a steady presence, solid ground. He'd hardly said anything since Steve's friends had arrived, and Steve wondered if maybe he felt edged out now that the Americans had swooped in on their rescue mission. Steve wanted to make sure that wasn't the case. "My friend," he said in Korean, "come look with me?"

Ji joined him at the table and bent over his shoulder to see what Steve was holding. "Pictures?"

"Yeah. Supposedly from my life. Help me with this, OK?" He held the bag open, and Ji gingerly plucked out the stack of photos and set them on the table.

The two men went through the photographs one by one. Ji exclaimed over each image, entranced by the happiness of the people and the beauty of their surroundings. Steve latched onto one photo in particular, a shot of Danny and a teenage girl and a young boy sitting around a campfire on the beach with a man that Ji said would look just like him if he were clean-shaven and properly nourished. Steve held the photograph close to his eyes so that he could see it clearly. He'd seen those kids in his dreams — those nights when he would awaken with the memories hovering so close he could almost reach out and touch them, but then they just faded away before he could get a firm grip on them. He tapped the picture, his fingertip beating a steady rhythm just above the girl's head. An image flashed in his mind of the same girl on a surfboard, laughing as she caught a wave. He looked up at Danno, who was just pulling on his sweater, and asked if the girl surfed.

Danny just stared at him. "Huh? You gotta speak English, Steve."

"Sorry." He hadn't even realized he'd asked in Korean. Trying to keep his languages straight was starting to give him a headache. "The girl surfs, doesn't she?" he repeated in English. "They're your kids, right?"

"Yeah, Steve. That's right. They're my kids." Danny moved around and stood behind him, next to Ji. Steve couldn't make out the expression on Danny's face, but he could hear relief and continued concern and a hint of sorrow all mixed together in his voice. He wished he could give him what he wanted.

"I should know their names." He closed his eyes tight and tried to block out the whispering voices and the feel of everyone's eyes zeroed in on him as he attempted to summon the names from the hidden depths of his memory. Nothing. He opened his eyes and stared down at the picture again. Still nothing, except a sense that these were some of the most important people in his life.

Danny put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't try so hard. It's there — you'll find it."

"Yeah." Steve lay the photo down at the top of the stack of pictures he'd looked through, then picked up the next item Danny had brought for him — a badge. He held it close but found that he could not manage to read what it said — just as he hadn't been able to read the map over Dr. Ivanova's desk. He just couldn't make his eyes focus on the letters. Unwilling to admit to this deficiency, he said nothing. Instead, he held the badge in the palm of his left hand and carefully traced the raised letters with his thumb. The one part he was able to work out was a five and a zero. "Fifty… no… Five Oh." He grinned. At least one little piece of the puzzle seemed to be finding its place. "Book 'em, Danno!"

Danny groaned. "It figures that's the first thing your scrambled brains would latch onto. It's Danny, Steven, not Danno. Only my kids get to call me Danno."

"Killjoy," Steve shot back, and everyone else laughed.

"Some things never change," was Joe's terse observation, and Steve thought he detected an undercurrent of humor in the man's tone.

Stifling a yawn, he set the badge down next to the photos. There were other items in the bag, but he would look at them later. He was exhausted and in pain and his eyelids kept drooping.

Danny must have noticed the yawn, because he squeezed Steve's shoulder. "We need to figure out what we're going to do," he said. "It's a little crowded in here and I'm tired and hungry — and I don't think we're going to find a decent pizza joint around here."

Steve tried to stay awake. He wanted to be a part of the discussion — to take part in any planning that involved him — but his body wouldn't cooperate. He finally settled on closing his eyes while he listened in. If necessary, he would put in his two cents, but these people had his best interests at heart, right? And he had a vague sense that he had trusted them with his life before more than once. Soothed by the fire crackling and the low hum of voices, he slowly relaxed and let his head fall slightly forward as he drifted off to sleep.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Danny carefully eased himself into a sitting position on the cot next to Kono. He was exhausted and sore, and he had to force himself to sit up straight so he wouldn't doze off. He couldn't rest until they had a plan to get back home. He glanced over to his best friend, glad that he was comfortable enough among them that he was willing to close his eyes. Still, Danny wasn't fooled — Steve was paying attention to everything and would be fully awake and alert if at any point he sensed a threat. He may have lost his memory, but his training was so deeply ingrained that it was as much a part of him as breathing. Thankfully, his memory already showed signs of returning. The fact that Steve had put a name to his face and knew who Grace and Charlie were — even if he couldn't name them — meant those memories were there. He just needed time for his brain to figure out how to access them.

He looked around the room and considered each of their new friends. Pak Hun Ji — well, as far as Danny understood, the unassuming Korean had saved Steve from a bear attack. The sight of Steve's bare back when Lyudmila examined him had raised the bile in Danny's throat. Angry red gashes marked where the bear's claws had torn into his skin. The fact that he was alive... well... maybe it shouldn't have surprised Danny, considering all that Steve had survived since they met eight years ago, but still, it amazed him, and they had Pak Hun Ji to thank for it. He'd been humble about his deed, preferring to give credit to Semyenov and expressing great sorrow upon learning of that man's death. Even if he hadn't saved Steve's life, Danny could see the bond that had grown between the two men. Pak Hun Ji was ohana now, even if he didn't realize it yet.

Danny's gaze settled next on Dr. Ivanova. Without her, they might never have found out that Steve had been sent to Russia. She might have difficulty returning to her work after taking to help them find him. What's more, she wanted to be with her brother, who could certainly never return to Russia.

Finally, Danny turned his attention to the Russian sergeant, seated directly across from him on the other cot. Arkady Dushko was the wild card. He had started out assisting Ryong, but he'd also been invaluable in helping 5-0 find Steve. Danny wanted to believe he was a man of integrity who chose the high road when his job conflicted with what he considered right, but how far would that go? How much was he willing to risk to keep his integrity intact?

He shelved those questions for the moment, though he determined to keep a close eye on Duskho. First things first — they needed to come up with a plan, beginning with a meal and adequate shelter for them all and ending with getting them safely home. "So," he began, a broad sweep of his hand indicating that his question was for everyone's consideration. "What do we do next? I don't think we can just go back to Mogocha and buy plane tickets."

Dushko shook his head. "No. They will not easily let Steve go — I do not know the details, but there is a reason my government was willing to assist Ryong in recapturing him. Something about an incident at the Russian Consulate in Honolulu some years ago. And this does not even take into account the death of Colonel Ryong."

Chin groaned. "Vonokov... yeah, I suppose Steve wouldn't be on their nice list after that."

"Neither would you, Cuz," Kono interjected. "You're the one who rammed the Consulate gates, after all. You're lucky that officer in Mogocha didn't look too deeply into the matter."

"I think I must know more details about this incident." Dushko regarded Chin and Kono with a mixture of amusement and concern.

Danny waved a hand through the air. "Oh, nothing out of the ordinary — just a corrupt consul who was letting a rapist and murderer hide behind his diplomatic immunity. We're 5-0, a special task force formed to eliminate crime in Hawaii, and we weren't going to let a little obstacle like that stop us."

Arkady gave a thoughtful nod, but Danny couldn't tell from his poker-face whether he approved or not. "I would like to know more about this 5-0. Perhaps someday we will sit down over vodka and trade stories. But you are right — we must make plans now. First let me tell you what will be expected by my superiors. I must bring you all to my post and turn you over. Steve will be extradited to Pyongyang for the murder of Colonel Ryong, and —"

"Now wait a minute!" Danny lurched to his feet, bristling, his hand moving to the gun at his hip. "I came all this way to find my best friend and bring him home. I'm sure as hell not just going to let you turn him in."

"Sit down, Danny. Let him finish." Steve's quiet voice still commanded obedience. Danny swung his head around to see him sitting up straight again, wide awake, his eyes open and bright in the flickering firelight.

For once the irascible detective didn't argue. He sank down on the cot, which creaked under his weight, and sat glaring at Dushko. "Go on," he growled.

Dushko tipped his head toward Steve, then turned to Danny and continued in crisp tones. "I am telling you only what is expected, Detective — I assure you, I did not defy Ryong to see your friend executed for murder. I am well-satisfied that Steve McGarrett is a good man and that his actions against the colonel were justified. However, you can be certain Ryong's death will cause tensions between Russia and Pyongyang when it is discovered, and those in charge will not care whether he was justified or not — they will want his head. As for the rest of you... well..." He held up his hands and shrugged. "I do not know what would happen. There is a possibility you would be considered complicit."

"Is that all," Danny snapped, "or do you actually have a useful suggestion?"

"As a matter of fact, Detective, I think you have already heard the best idea. McGarrett and Pak Hun Ji were heading to Mongolia. This is good. The closest American consulate is in Ulaanbaatar, and from there, you will certainly be able to find a way home."

"And how do we know they won't just stop us at the border?" Danny's fists were clenching and unclenching again. He wasn't convinced they could trust Dushko. The guy had been helpful so far, but how much was he really willing to risk? "I've got Steve's passport, but he doesn't have a visa to be in this country. And from what you're saying, they're not just going to let him go."

"Leave that to me, 'Book em Danno.'" Arkady's confident nod and snarky tone reminded Danny a little too much of Steve before one of his crazy stunts to be reassuring.

Danny rolled his eyes. "Don't you start... it's bad enough coming from Steve. And what's your plan anyway... you have a friend who will just wave us across or something?"

Arkady shrugged and Danny could swear he smirked. "Yes. At least... enough of a friend that he could be... motivated to help us if offered a little incentive." He raised an eyebrow.

"As in... dollars, right?" Chin shook his head. "Seems to be a popular incentive around here."

"Yes, dollars. And around here, people do what they must. It's called survival. Dima's wife suffers breast cancer — you will be contributing towards her treatment."

"We'll do it," Steve said. He had been sitting quietly, staring into the fire, but now he looked directly at Danny. "Grace and Charlie, right? Your kids? Kono took that picture when we had a cookout on the beach after Grace got home from Scout camp."

The relief that washed over Danny left him feeling lighter, more hopeful. Maybe this crazy plan would work. He laughed. "Yeah, that's right. We were roasting marshmallows and you — Neanderthal that you are — kept turning your marshmallow into a blazing torch and using it to incinerate mine." He shut his mouth and glanced at Pak Hun Ji.

Steve chuckled. "That's the problem with you, Danno. Always something to complain about." He slid the photo to the bottom of the stack and picked up the next one, considering it for a moment before saying anything. "Kono and Adam... dancing at their wedding reception. Man, she was a beautiful bride. We almost missed the ceremony... and Kamekona had a fit about us taking that nuke on his helicopter."

Danny watched as Dushko's jaw just about hit the floor. "It's a long story, Sergeant. I'll tell you later."

"That's right, Boss." Kono laughed, but Danny could see the tears glowing in her eyes. She had been quiet since the reunion, and she had looked stricken when Steve had asked her name. She wasn't the only one who was relieved.

"Is it all coming back, Son?" Joe asked.

Steve nodded. "Most of it... I'm still not sure how I got into this mess, but I think you can fill me in, Joe... in private. But first... I agree with the Sergeant. Ulaanbaatar. That's what Ji and I were planning already. He will meet his family there, and I want to take them home with us, get them set up with work." He met Joe's gaze. "Dr. Ivanova too, if she wants. Your contacts can handle that, right?"

Lyudmila gasped. "To go to America... this would be a dream. But I have not come prepared for such a journey... and... my brother has need for me."

Steve narrowed his eyes. "Tell me about your brother... I think I missed that part."

"Fox," Alex volunteered. "He's the one who contacted me, after Dr. Ivanova sent him the email about you. He's in Kyiv. He lost a leg fighting for Ukraine... he can't return home."

"But we could work out for him to do rehab in Honolulu, couldn't we?" Danny suggested. "And from there we could arrange to sponsor them both for residency."

"You would do this?" Dr. Ivanova dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

Steve leaned forward and lay a hand on hers. "Dr. Ivanova, in a heartbeat. You didn't have to help me, but you did... at considerable risk to your own career. And you were the only one at that camp who treated everyone with dignity. We have the resources. Let us do this for you and Fox."

"Sergei," she corrected, eyes welling with tears. "His real name is Sergei. And... you will all call me Lyudmila."

"All right then." Joe put an arm around Lyudmila's shoulders and pulled her into a quick side hug. "We have a plan... how are we going to carry it off? We're not walking that distance — too many injured here."

"What about Semyenov's truck?" Dushko asked. "If the damage is not too bad, perhaps I could get it running, at least long enough to get us back to my home village... it's a few hours from here. My mother is a Russian babushka — granny — she is at her happiest when she has people to feed. Our priest would also be willing to locate Semyenov's family so they can arrange a burial. And I think my father would take you to the border crossing."

Danny threw up a hand. "Hang on... you expect to get that wreck working? You a mechanic too?"

Dushko chuckled. "Military life has taught me many things. Among them, taking a battered heap like that pickup and making it run. It might not be much better than Mr. Bama's helicopter was before the crash, but it will get us to my village."

"I can help," Alex volunteered. When the others gaped, she shrugged. "What?! My dad's a mechanic. He wanted me to take over his shop."

"All right, then," Dushko said as he stood up. "Let us get started right away. Detective... you will bring your light?"

Danny reached for the light on the table. He might as well help — it would let him keep an eye on Dushko. He felt better about things, but his natural caution wouldn't let him trust the sergeant just yet. Too much was at stake to take chances now. He jumped to his feet and followed Dushko and Alex outside.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

"Joe? We need to talk." Once the others had gone out, Steve had gotten up from the table and moved to his old mentor's side. "Come on... let's take a walk."

Joe wanted to avoid Steve's eyes. They didn't focus the way they should. The right eye might fix on something, but the left wandered. Mila had explained it to them — such vision problems were not uncommon after a head injury and Steve would require not only surgery, but intensive therapy to correct it. Joe wished he knew what had happened to the younger man between his capture and his arrival at the logging camp. Steve might never remember the details, but Joe knew he had to have been badly beaten. The guilt he felt over that had him longing for a good shot of vodka just now. But he'd promised himself that he wasn't going to fall into that pit again. Reluctant, he still fastened his eyes on Steve's face and gave a slow nod. "You're right, Son. We do. Let's go."

Lyudmila moved between them and the door, her arms crossed over her chest, glowering in disapproval. "You are badly injured, Steve McGarrett. You must rest."

"We won't go far," Steve assured her. "And I've been hurt a lot worse than this and had to keep going."

Joe patted Steve's arm to quiet him, then stepped close to Mila and dared to stroke a hand ever so gently down the side of her face. He could feel her steely resolve softening at his touch. Steve would probably never be able to convince her to let him through the door, but Joe knew he could do it. "We need privacy for this conversation, Mila. I'll take good care of him. I promise."

She didn't answer right away, just stared up into his eyes. He found his lips lowering towards hers, but before they actually made contact he shook his head and forced himself to pull back. Still, his hand lingered at the nape of her neck.

When she finally spoke, her voice hitched a little and her words came out slightly breathless as she gave him a brisk nod and allowed them to pass. "See that you do."

They stepped out into the early evening dusk and walked around the small hut into the forest. True to Steve's word, they didn't go far. They could still see the hut through the trees when they stopped a few yards away. Joe leaned against a cedar trunk and inhaled deeply. The pungent aroma eased his anxieties somewhat, but he still felt agitated.

Steve wasted no time getting to his point. "I need to know what happened on the op — I remember being tapped for it, and you didn't want me to go, but I'm not sure exactly what it was about. I know it must have gone bad, for me to end up in this situation."

Joe raised an eyebrow. "I could say you no longer have official clearance for that sort of information."

"Really, Joe?" Steve's eyes flashed, and he leaned forward, his body tensing as his voice rose slightly in pitch. "You think someone's going to object to you talking to a dead man about a case? I _am_ officially dead, right?"

Joe breathed out a long sigh as he nodded. "Yes. I'm sorry, Steve. It's just that I've been dreading this conversation because... well... I feel responsible. I'll tell you everything."

And he did. He told the story of the op from its beginning to its bittersweet end — a successful op, but a failed exfil, during which he left Steve behind to take an injured Catherine to the ship. "I went back for you, but it was too late — they had you by then. I tried to find you. I exhausted all my channels and then pushed them to exhaust theirs. Finally, I admitted defeat and came back home and gave 5-0 the news." He looked away, no longer able to bear the vulnerability in Steve's unfocused gaze. "I am so sorry, Steve. The rule is, leave no man behind. I never should have left you… I should have gone back sooner… I should have kept pushing. Maybe I would have found you before… well… all this happened. This was my fault."

Steve shook his head. "No, Joe. I told you to go."

"Yeah," Joe scoffed, "and I remember telling you the same thing before, and you didn't listen to me."

"Joe." Steve rested his palm on Joe's grizzled cheek and gently maneuvered his face so that their eyes met once more. "If you hadn't gone, Catherine might have died. Or we might all be rotting in some camp somewhere and no one would have given my ohana the truth. It's a trade I was willing to make. You did what you had to do. Yeah, we say 'leave no man behind,' but the reality is, sometimes there's no other choice. It stinks, but that's how it is." He smiled and patted Joe's cheek. "And it all turned out for the best — how else would you have met Mila, huh?"

With that, the tension between them dissolved. Joe pulled Steve into a hug and held him close for a moment. "I made your dad a promise that I would protect you. I couldn't bear the thought that I'd failed him, that I'd failed you. It's been tearing me up inside." Blinking back tears, he released Steve. "Thank you, Son." He took a deep breath and blinked back his tears. He had taken the risk and revealed his inner turmoil to Steve, but he couldn't go back inside and let the others see what this talk had taken out of him. He walked Steve to the door but hung back after opening it. "Listen. You go in and get warm. I... um... think I'll go help the mechanics."

Joe was a good liar. He had to be. But Steve knew him better than most people. "Have a good walk, Joe. I know it helps to clear your head. Stay close."

He just nodded. When the door had closed behind Steve, he walked back into the trees. Close to the spot where he and Steve had talked, he found a fallen log that would make for a good bench. He sat for a while, letting the heady aromas of the forest soak into him, then quietly returned to the hut, his usual stoic expression set firmly in place.


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note: This chapter has taken far longer to write than it should have, and I apologize for the delay. Katbybee (beta-reader extraordinaire!) has been awesome, helping keep me from giving up altogether when I was about to dump the whole thing because I kept getting mired in the details. Her suggestions pointed me in the right direction and got me moving again. Thank you, Kat!**

 **In this chapter, I relate Sergeant Arkady Dushko's backstory. I had not planned on developing that story as much as I have done here, but when a character gets talking, I take dictation. I have done a great deal of research on Russia's Old Believers for this chapter, and halfway through I realized that some of what I wrote in Chapter 11 just didn't work. In addition, as Arkady's story unfolded, there were inconsistencies with what was already written. Because of the inaccuracies, I decided that rather than adjust what I have written here, I would simply go back and edit the paragraph about his village. For your convenience, here are the edited lines from Chapter 11:**

 **"The villagers were an insular bunch, a town of Old Believers who had almost completely cut themselves off from the outside world. Arkady was one of only a few of his generation who had ventured beyond the boundaries of that world. His mother had some knowledge of herbal medicine — she might be able to help the injured man. And if not, surely his father would not refuse to help get him to a physician. They were few and far between in this part of the world, but there were some who had gained the trust of the Old Believers."**

 **In spite of my research, I want to stress that I have not had the privilege of visiting any community of Old Believers, and any inaccuracies are my own.**

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

 **Glossary (Russian - English)**

Rubashka - a traditional high-collared tunic with an embroidered design

Poya - a long woven belt that is worn tied around the waist

Malchik - boy

Menya zovut - My name is

Pradyed - Great Grandfather

Myesto! - Stay!

Slava Bogu! - Praise God!

Bludnyy syn vernulsya! - The Prodigal Son has returned!

Priyti! - Come!

Nash Arkady zhivyot! - Our Arkady lives!

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

About an hour later, they were just about ready to go. Danny, Alex, and Dushko had managed to turn the truck upright and found that aside from a loose fender, which Dushko simply ripped off, and a damaged frame, it was still in working order. They didn't even have to hotwire it, since Ryong had left the keys in the ignition.

They buried Ryong and Semyenov in hastily dug graves, covering them with stones to keep wild animals out, then piled into the vehicle and set off, heading back towards the road where the sergeant had first found the injured veterinarian.

The road narrowed and grew rougher the further Dushko drove. The night was moonless, so Danny couldn't get a good view of the landscape, but he'd seen enough during the day to know they were traveling through a vast and thick forest. He couldn't imagine a village existing in the midst of this. Though he saw little of the surroundings, Danny's view when he gazed upward was unparallelled. A liberal dusting of stars sparkled against the deep indigo of the night sky. He could even see the hazy glowing band of the Milky Way.

"Tell me what it looks like."

"Huh?" Steve's request caught Danny by surprise. He turned to face his friend, who was stretched out next to him on one of the blankets from the hut, wearing Joe's coat. Joe had insisted on giving it to him, claiming he liked the bracing cold.

"The sky," Steve clarified. "It's just a big blur to me, but I figure it's got to be one heck of a display if it's a clear night."

"Yeah, it's amazing. Like... diamonds against black velvet."

"Wish I could see it." Steve spoke quietly, his wistful tone a stark contrast to his typical bravado.

Danny put a hand on his friend's forearm. "Hey… where's that positive outlook you're always pushing on me? We'll go home, you'll get the treatment you need, and you'll be good as new. And when you're up for it, we'll go hiking somewhere away from the city. I'll bet we can find a place with a view even better than this one."

Steve was quiet for a moment, then chuckled. "I must be in worse shape than I realized if you're volunteering to go hiking."

Danny shrugged. "Might as well. You'll make me go anyway."

"True."

They kept silence for a moment, then Danny changed the flow of the conversation. "You'd better brace yourself, by the way."

"Yeah? What for?"

"Well, Grace never would believe you were dead. She gave me the silent treatment over it. I knew you weren't... and I couldn't tell her... and it just about killed me. She is going to be thrilled to see her Uncle Steve again. And Charlie..." Danny shook his head and gave a soft laugh. "Well, Charlie is going to be over the moon."

A long silence fell and Danny thought Steve had fallen asleep. But just as he was turning to check, Steve finally spoke again. "I'm sorry you all went through that. Thanks for not giving up on me."

"Hey, you would do the same for me. Of course... I wouldn't go out and get myself in that kind of trouble in the first place because I'm not a crazed Super SEAL who has to do everything the hard way." Danny's derisive words were laced with a touch of humor, and he hoped Steve would take them in the spirit intended.

He was not disappointed. Steve rolled on his side and puffed out his chest. "You wouldn't, huh? What about —" His voice faded to nothing as he rolled back on his stomach. "Damn… it was on the tip of my tongue," he breathed out in frustration.

"Still some holes?" Danny asked, keeping his voice low. He didn't worry about Frank or Chin overhearing — they were both snoring already — and Ji couldn't understand. Of course, Joe was probably listening in, even if he seemed distracted by Lyudmila. Danny wasn't about to make it easy for him.

Steve just nodded.

Danny felt his heart sinking to his stomach. "Like… a lot? A few? How bad is it?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know that, Danno?" Steve hissed. In spite of the anger lacing his tone, his words slurred slightly, and they were punctuated by a cavernous yawn.

Danny knew his friend was still exhausted and decided it wasn't a good idea to push any harder. Lyudmila had warned them that Steve might tire easily, and he'd probably been going on adrenaline for a while now. "Give it time," he said, trying to convince himself as much as Steve. "It'll come back."

No response. Danny looked over to see Steve with his head pillowed on his arms, eyes closed, breathing evenly. Sound asleep. "Get some rest, Super SEAL," he said, his lips twitching upward in a rueful smile. _Might as well follow his example,_ he thought. Confident that Joe was keeping watch, he lay back, closed his eyes, and drifted off to sleep as well.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Arkady gripped the steering wheel and stared intently at the road ahead. He tuned out Alex and Kono as they talked next to him, thankful they did not try to draw him into their conversation. He had never actually driven this road; before today, he hadn't walked it in almost fifteen years. He didn't feel the need just now to let his new acquaintances know this fact, nor was he ready to let them know of the fear that had settled like a rock in his gut. Would his parents welcome him? Were they even still living? What if he returned home only to find his village deserted? As far as Arkady's family knew, he had died the night he disappeared after an argument with his father. He swallowed hard and removed one hand from the wheel to finger the cross he wore under his uniform. He'd long ago traded his **rubashka** and his intricately woven **poya** for a soldier's uniform, but for years he had clung to that cross as the only remnant of the life he had left behind.

As a youth, he had been restless, longing to see something of the world beyond his isolated village. The Old Believers were an insular people, and after the Revolution of 1917, many had withdrawn to escape persecution and keep their old ways, hiding their small communities in vast swathes of wilderness where life never seemed to change.

But Arkady had craved change. According to family legends, his great-great-grandfather had gone to sea in his youth, returning home with many stories of the world beyond his family's farm. Passed down from one generation to the next, those stories had thrilled Arkady. He wanted to see new places, meet new people. He wanted to make his own life, instead of others deciding for him what he would do, how he would dress, whom he would marry. While he appreciated the history of his people and the suffering they had endured, he failed to see why he should be hemmed in and controlled because of it. And so, judging himself a man grown, he had walked out that night shortly after his sixteenth birthday.

A faint smile graced his lips as he remembered his first sight of the "big" city — Mogocha. In later years he would see Moscow and understand that Mogocha was actually quite small, but to a lad whose life experience was limited to a village of no more than 50 people, this city of thousands had been both intriguing and terrifying.

Naive in the ways of the world, he still knew that to take what did not belong to him was a grave sin. God's wrath had come swiftly, in the form of the baker's hand grasping him in its iron grip by the high collar of his rubashka. With the other hand, the man slapped Arkady hard across the face as a torrent of angry words poured from his mouth. When the police arrived, the officer had been firm, but not cruel. He demanded Arkady's identity papers — documentation the lad did not possess — and contact information for his parents, and he promised the baker he would take care of the matter.

Sitting in the police station, Arkady faced a dilemma. He was ready for his adventure to end, but he was not ready to apologize to his father or bow to his will, and not completely certain his father would allow him to return anyway. And in any case, he could not betray the community's existence, possibly bringing new troubles upon them.

For some reason, the lieutenant who questioned him had taken kindly to the stubborn young man who sat for hours in his office and never uttered a word. When the time came to have Arkady escorted to a jail cell, the boy thought maybe he spied genuine compassion in Police Lieutenant Mikhail Dmitrevich Dushko's eyes.

Like Jonah in the belly of the fish, he spent three days in that cell. Each afternoon as he ate his meager dinner, Lieutenant Dushko would sit and talk with him through the bars. **"Malchik,** you must answer my questions. At least tell me your name. I do not believe you are a bad boy... just a hungry one. But you chose to steal from the wrong man. Sasha Andreievich would let his own mother starve if she could not pay for a loaf. He demands the strictest punishment. I believe I can convince my captain to let me take you home as long as you promise never to steal again. But first, we must know who you are and where you live. I cannot release you except into the custody of your parents."

On the last day, Arkady crumbled his stale chunk of bread into the bowl of red borscht, carefully considering the lieutenant's words. Finally, he decided that he could at least tell his name, though he would keep his vow of silence about the village. **"Menya zovut** Arkady." They were the first words he had spoken since his arrest, and he could swear they brought a fleeting shadow to the lieutenant's eyes.

"Arkady?" Dushko raised an eyebrow. "Only Arkady? Nothing more... no patronymic? No family name?"

With a slow shake of his head, Arkady dared to meet the lieutenant's eyes. "Only Arkady. I am... alone."

Early the next morning, the lieutenant bustled his young charge out of the police station and into his old Zhiguli sedan. Arkady had never been inside a car before. Indeed, he had never seen one before his trek to Mogocha. Awe and a somewhat renewed thirst for adventure kept him in his seat. Well, that, and he didn't know how to open the door. When the lieutenant had turned on the vehicle and set it in motion, the youth had stiffened and braced himself against the glove box. The lieutenant laughed. "Relax, Malchik. I think you'll like this."

About ten hours later, the lieutenant delivered him to the door of a military school. Before they got out, the man sat silent for a moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was distant and full of pain. "My son's name was also Arkady. If he had lived, he would be about your age." He sighed. "It will be hard, but school is better than jail or the streets, yes? Your tuition is paid. I will check on you as often as I can."

And so Arkady's new life began. The boy who had wanted to claim control of his life found it strictly regimented instead. Registered under the name Dushko, he gradually accepted that name as his own. He wrote a weekly letter to the lieutenant, informing him of his progress. When his benefactor was killed in a fire a year later, Arkady thought he would be forced out of school, but he discovered that the man had arranged to pay his tuition, along with room and board and a small allowance, through graduation.

Life was not easy, but it never had been. The other boys found Arkady's ways quaint, his speech old-fashioned, and they teased him mercilessly. When he was tempted to feel sorry for himself, he clung to snatches of instruction he remembered from childhood: "You must learn to find contentment wherever you are, my son," his father had once told him. Arkady had ignored this advice when he ran away from home, but now he repeated it to himself daily. He threw himself into his studies, quickly proving that he could surpass the rest of his cohort in academics and physical training.

With no background and no money to speak of, though, high marks were not enough to make him officer material. At 18, after graduating at the top of his form, he enlisted at the rank of private while his classmates went on to military academies and officer training. Though trained as a sniper, he had never yet seen combat. While his superiors praised his skills on the practice range, they thought him too docile, more a scholar than a soldier, and better suited to a desk job than the battlefield. Over time, he earned promotion to sergeant. When he was pulled away from his desk in order to assist Colonel Ryong, subsequently realizing that pursuit of Steve McGarrett was taking him closer and closer to his childhood home, he wondered if God was giving him a second chance to go home. He'd thought many times about going back, but always found excuses to stay away.

 _Well, God,_ he thought now as the damaged truck bumped its way along the rutted road. _Mama always told me that if I strayed from the path you set before me, someday you would place me back on it in spite of myself. I suppose she was right._ He squinted and leaned forward, peering through the night as he slowed the truck to a crawl, his eyes searching carefully for the large stone that marked the beginning of the path to the village. His great-great-grandfather had set it in place long before Arkady's birth, a marker that only other Old Believers would recognize. At last he saw it, unchanged by the passage of time. He could only hope that his childhood home would be the same.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

When Dushko pulled to the side of the road and stopped, Danny awoke with a start and looked around. No sign of human habitation at all — just thick, dark woods surrounding them. "What the hell?" Had the truck broken down? His body tensing, he touched his gun, readying himself for whatever might happen.

Steve sat up, wincing with the movement. Danny reached to help, but he pushed the offered hand away. "I'm OK, Danno. Listen, I know you don't trust the sergeant, but I do. Give him a chance."

Danny frowned. "We're in the middle of nowhere, Steve. This can't be good."

A door slammed, and a minute later Dushko limped around the truck to face his passengers. "From here we walk. The village is not far, but the road will not take us there." He lowered the tailgate.

"I still say this is crazy," Danny muttered as he jumped to the ground after Lyudmila, then turned to help Steve.

"Think positive, Danny." Steve thumped him on the shoulder as he slid down. Any trace of wistfulness or uncertainty had altogether vanished from his tone.

Normally, Danny would have responded with a cutting remark, but he swallowed it. Instead, he scrutinized his friend carefully, looking for evidence of pain and trying to gauge how much of this mood swing was an act. _Aneurysm face… bet he's got a headache. And he's shivering, even with Joe's coat on. Could just be cold — but could be running a fever. I hope to God he's right about Dushko, because if he isn't, we're screwed._

Chin and Kono fell into line behind their guide, followed by Joe and Lyudmila. Next came Alex and Frank. Steve walked behind them, one hand on Pak Hun Ji's shoulder for guidance. Danny felt a pang of jealousy, but he reminded himself that the two men had been traveling this way for a while now. Why mess with what worked? Danny brought up the rear.

As far as he could tell, there was no discernible path. The sergeant picked his way through the trees, stopping occasionally to cast his light around before moving on. The deeper they walked into the woods, the more Danny's gut tightened with anxiety. When he saw Steve stumble and almost fall, his last shred of patience crumbled. "I thought you said it wouldn't take long, Sergeant," he barked. "Look, we're tired and hungry and some of us are injured. We need to end this."

Dushko stopped, his shoulder muscles visibly tightening. "Come here please, Book 'Em Danno. Stand with me a moment."

Ignoring the use of the nickname, Danny shouldered past the others toward the front of the line. Steve grabbed his arm briefly as he passed. "Danno, take it easy."

Danny paused for just a second, then pulled away and moved to Dushko's side. "What?"

"Shine your light down there. Tell me what you see."

He did as Dushko asked. The beam of light settled on a crumbling pile of stones. "A bunch of rocks," he snapped, then took a deep breath and forced himself to temper his tone. "Is this supposed to mean something?"

Dushko's smooth, unruffled answer only served to infuriate him more. "Not to you, perhaps, but to me, it is a sign that we are headed in the right direction. When we reach those stones, we will look for another pile. The stones mark the path to a hidden village... my childhood home. My people have lived in hiding here since 1918. I have not walked this path in many years, and though I remember these woods quite well, I am no longer certain of the distances. But I assure you, it is not much further."

Danny crossed his arms, accidentally-on-purpose shining the Maglite in Dushko's eyes for a brief second. He smirked as Dushko winced and blinked. "How many years are you talking about? Are you sure your family is still there?"

Dushko hesitated just a beat, but it was enough for Danny to know he wasn't convinced of his answer. "Fourteen. And I am reasonably certain. Listen, Detective — this is the best I can offer you. The alternative is, we walk to Ulaanbaatar, eating only what we can hunt. You are free to do this if you wish, but now that I am this close to my home, I intend to see my parents, if they are willing."

He attempted to move forward, but Chin intercepted him. "Wait. Why wouldn't they be willing?"

Dushko sighed as he looked around and then turned back to them. "When I was sixteen, I abandoned my family after an argument with my father. He wished to arrange a marriage for me." He shrugged. "I did not agree. We fought. I left. I never returned."

He started to move forward again, but Danny grabbed his arm. "We're not done," he barked. "What makes you think they'll help us?"

Dushko stiffened and his tone grew hard. "My parents are good people, Detective. I may have run away, but I never doubted that. In fact, within a few days, I wanted to go home, but by that point, I could not. For their protection, I gave up everything, even my name." He sighed. "I hope they will welcome me, but I cannot be sure. But you — you come to them as strangers in need. Christian charity requires them to give you aid. If necessary, I will leave you with them and hope that someday our paths cross again."

"No." Steve and Ji had moved up next to Danny. Steve looked like hell, but his voice did not waver. "We're sticking together. If they won't accept you, we'll find another way."

Danny threw his hands up. "Steve, I don't know why you trust this guy! I mean... it's a touching story and all, but I've got twenty bucks that says he's leading us into a trap."

"Twenty bucks, huh? High stakes there, Danno. Show a little commitment... make it at least fifty."

"Knock it off, Steve." Danny wasn't in the mood for any more taunting. "Someone has to exercise a little caution since you won't. I'm not letting a total stranger lead me into the woods to be devoured by wolves just because a Neanderthal animal says I should!"

"Who says I'm not exercising caution? I'm a good judge of character, Danny, and I trust him. Besides, I don't know that we have any other choice. Do you really want to walk to Ulaanbaatar?"

"Steve's right, Danny. We have to trust him." Joe looked around at the rest of the group. "Any other objections?"

When no one responded, Steve smirked. "All right, then. You're on, Danny. Fifty bucks." Steve nodded to Dushko. "Lead on, Sergeant. I'll take you out to dinner with my winnings when this is all over."

"Don't count your chickens before they hatch," Danny muttered under his breath, but he knew when he was defeated. "Fine. But when he leads us into a firing squad, don't blame me."

Dushko's eyes flashed. "I have done nothing but help since I met you, Detective. I have taken considerable risks in order to do so. If you would stop insulting me long enough to listen, perhaps you would understand that we are on the same side. My goal is to see you and your friends — including the Commander — returned safely home."

Without another word, he continued, the others falling in line behind him once again. Danny hustled to keep up. He wasn't about to get caught in these woods alone, and someone had to look out for the danger magnet.

About ten minutes later, the trees gave way to a small graveyard. Beyond that, Danny spotted a log house surrounded by more trees. Candles glowed in the front window. A hint of woodsmoke and something baking wafted on the air and filled Danny's nostrils. He was no longer convinced that they were walking into a trap, and whatever was cooking sure did smell good.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Arkady stopped as they reached the edge of the graveyard. "Wait here. It is best I speak to them first. Then I will introduce you."

As he stepped forward, he inhaled deeply, mustering all his courage. His instructors were wrong about him. He was not too docile for combat — he simply needed to believe in the fight. He had survived the bullies in school; he had excelled in brutal military training; he had not blinked when dealing with Ryong; and even with a bullet hole through his leg, he had kept going. Surely he could approach his mother and father. All they could do was reject him, right? Send the prodigal away. He had survived all these years in the outside world, and he could continue to survive there. But he craved the security of home.

A three-barred wooden cross marking his great-grandfather's grave stood at the edge of the cemetery. Arkady remembered himself as a boy of twelve, standing forlorn beside this grave after they had bid Georgiy Levovich farewell. He had been very close to the gentle man whose stories had always inspired him, awakening in him a thirst for adventure. That loss had marked the beginning of his discontent with life in the woods.

"I have returned, **Pradyed,"** he whispered. "Please pray for me." He crossed himself and then turned and strode toward his father's house.

Before he could reach the door, an old man with a long white beard stepped out from behind the stand of trees, a flickering lantern in one hand. In the other arm, he carried a few logs. At his heels, a large wolf-dog stood on alert, hackles raised, staring at Arkady. As his eyes met Arkady's the old man froze, dropping the firewood. **"Myesto,"** he said, his tone steady and quiet, but commanding. Arkady wasn't sure if his father was talking to the dog or to him, but he obeyed, staying rooted in place.

"Papa?" The word came out in a strangled whisper, and to Arkady, time seemed to freeze as he and his father stared at one another.

The old man trembled, and he squinted his eyes as he scrutinized his son. "It is my Arkady's voice... his face... but can it be true that my son lives?"

"Yes, Papa." He swiped his sleeve across his face, wiping away tears. "I am alive. I have come home." He took a step forward, waiting, trying to gauge his father's expression. The dog growled, but his father barked a command and the animal lay down next to him. Arkady could see, though, that the creature's muscles remained taut, on guard.

After a brief silence, his father dropped the logs as he raised both arms and stepped toward him, calling out with a loud shout. **"Slava Bogu! Bludnyy syn vernulsya! Mama! Priyti! Nash Arkady zhivyot!"**

An elderly woman clad in an ankle length homespun dress and apron, her hair covered with a kerchief, flew out of the house, down the front steps, and into Arkady's arms. Weeping, Arkady embraced his mother, then stretched out one long arm to pull his father into the hug as well. "Mama... Papa... I've missed you so. Can you ever forgive me?"

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Danny didn't need to understand Russian to recognize the parents' joy at seeing their son alive and well. It made him feel good as he described the scene to his friend.

Steve elbowed him. "Now wasn't that worth a little walk through the woods?"

Danny snickered. "You can wipe that smirk off your face, Steve." But then he fell silent for a moment and just watched. "Yeah," he finally admitted. "It is kind of beautiful."

Soon Dushko gestured toward the small group waiting near the tree line, and Danny figured he was explaining their situation. After a few minutes, Arkady's tearful mother bustled back inside and his father knelt to gather up his firewood. Arkady turned and beckoned them forward. "Come! My parents will make you all welcome!"


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note: Sorry for a bit of a delay on this chapter. Life has been very busy since I last posted! I think we're close to the finish line on Forsaken, so I will be working hard to get the rest written and posted over the next few weeks.**

 **Though she plays only a small part, I want to comment on the character of Arkady's mother, Valentina Antonova. She was inspired by another Valentina, the sweet mother of the orphanage nurse who hosted us in the Ukrainian town where my husband and I adopted our youngest daughter. Valentina pretty much lived in the kitchen. She loved to cook, and even more than that, she loved to see us eat. Just like Valentina in this chapter, she would load up our plates with food and tell us "kushai, kushai!" (Eat, eat!). When I started writing about the group's time with Arkady's family, I knew I had to honor this lovely lady by writing her into the story!**

 **Many thanks to my wonderful beta reader, katbybee! And thank you as well to all who continue to read and review! I love hearing from you!**

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

 **Glossary (Russian – English)**

Izba - a traditional Russian log house

Kushai! – Eat!

Kotleti – meat patties

Pelmeni – a sort of Russian dumpling

Koniechna - of course

Spasibo - thank you

All other Russian is translated within the text.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Early one morning, after three peaceful days with Arkady's family, Steve lay stretched out comfortably on a hay-stuffed mattress placed in the back of Fyodor Antonov's horse-drawn wagon. Arkady sat up front next to his father, but the rest of the team was ranged around Steve in the wagon bed. It was still a few hours before dawn and the woods were pitch dark around them, their only light the flickering lanterns affixed on either side of the wagon seat. When Arkady had first said his father could help them get to the border, Steve had expected the man would transport them in a motor vehicle of some sort. The moment he set foot in the Antonovs' log **izba,** though, he had realized that would not be the case.

Stepping into that house had been like stepping backwards in time about a hundred years... more even. No electricity, no plumbing, not even running water. The whole village was completely off the grid. How else could they have remained hidden so long? According to Arkady, it wasn't the only such village in the region. The Soviet government had tried to find and stamp them all out, but a few small communities had survived. Apparently, they did have some connection with the outside, as well as with other Old Believer villages, but they placed little trust in the government and the modern world and preferred to live their lives in their quiet haven.

Their preference for isolation did nothing to diminish the welcome they gave Arkady's new friends. Apparently, Valentina Antonova, Arkady's mother, had dreamed on the night before their arrival that important guests would be coming, and she and her daughter and granddaughters had spent the day preparing. After cleaning up at the well, the team had been ushered into the izba to find a feast laid out for them. Family and friends crowded into the home, eager to welcome the prodigal back into their midst and to meet his friends.

After the meal, they had taken a brief rest before Arkady conducted them to the banya. Lyudmila and Valentina had both insisted that a traditional Russian sauna was exactly what Steve needed for his health just now. "There is a saying in Russian, 'Vbanye pomylsya — zanovo rodilsya,'" Arkady said. "This means, 'To wash in the banya is to be born anew.'"

Danny had complained, of course, but that was just Danny. His heart was good as gold, but if there was a reason to gripe, you could be sure he would find it. Steve chuckled softly, just thinking about the felt caps Arkady had given them to wear in the steam room. Steve wished he could have seen Danny's expression clearly, but he could imagine it well enough. Danny's eyes were probably smoldering when he pushed Arkady's hand away with a gruff proclamation of, "No way I'm wearing that!" But in the end, he had put the cap on just like the rest of them, grumbling that this had better not be Candid Camera. The caps were important, Arkady had explained, because they helped regulate the body temperature and keep one comfortable in the intense heat — apparently, it climbed up to just over 200 degrees in there! They had all come out feeling exhausted, but also really good — even Danny. Steve was pretty sure he slept better that night than he had in a long time.

The next day, they had repeated the process — rest, good food, banya, then more good food. Lyudmila and Valentina had clashed on only one matter — food. Valentina believed that Steve and Ji needed meat on their bones and that this would best be achieved through hearty feeding. Lyudmila insisted they needed to be careful about eating too much after months — years, in Ji's case — of deprivation or they would become ill. Lyudmila had won the battle, carefully restricting both Steve and Ji's servings, and Valentina had consoled herself by focusing on feeding Danny, who had quickly become her favorite, thanks to his healthy appetite. "Kushai, detektiv!" was her frequent refrain as she piled another helping of potatoes or **kotleti** or **pelmeni** onto Danny's plate.

Danny relished the attention, of course, and he had added a new word to his limited Russian vocabulary: "Vkusno!" — Delicious. When Steve questioned Danny privately about where he was putting all that food, Danny had just patted his stomach and said, "Hey, I'm used to this — my Italian grandmother did the same thing when I was a kid!"

Each evening after the banya, Steve's back was freshly bandaged with clean linen over a dressing Valentina had concocted from honey (yeah, cue the bear bait jokes from Danno). Lyudmila had approved of the sticky salve. She said that honey had been used for its antibacterial properties for millennia. She still wanted to get Steve on IV antibiotics, but until that was possible, Valentina's natural remedies had done him a world of good and his back was on the mend. All in all, after the visit to Arkady's parents, Steve felt like a new man. He and Ji even had new clothes to replace the rags they'd been wearing since the camp — he was pretty sure Valentina had burned those. The new clothes were a little baggy, a little old-fashioned, but clean, comfortable, and in good repair, even if they were hand-me-downs from Arkady's brothers. Most importantly, as his health improved, more and more memories seemed to be falling into place.

Thankfully, they would not have to travel all the way to Ulaanbaatar in this wagon, which lurched and creaked with every bump of the road. Arkady's father knew a craftsman who lived outside Zakamennaya, a few hours to the southeast. Apparently, he owned a vehicle large enough to accommodate them and would almost certainly be willing to drive them to Ereentsav, just across the border in Mongolia. From there, they would find transportation the rest of the way.

A frustrated growl intruded on Steve's thoughts, and he opened his eyes and turned toward Danny. "What's up?"

"The sat phone." Danny sounded disgusted. "I've been trying to call Jerry, but it isn't going through. I've had the same problem for days now. He and Lou don't even know we found you."

"Damaged in the crash?" Steve shifted, then pushed himself up and into a sitting position, gingerly settling himself next to Danny with his back against the wagon boards. He was pleased to note that the pain in his back had decreased significantly. Danny was still fiddling with the phone. "Well?"

"I don't think so. More likely a satellite outage." Danny sighed. "Sunspots or solar flares or something."

"Relax, Danny. If nothing else, we can contact them from the Embassy."

"Yeah, yeah... I know. It's just frustrating." He punched at the phone again, then grabbed Steve's arm. "Hey... it's working! Finally!"

Steve grinned. "Quick... hand it over before he answers." He reached for the device, swiping it out of Danny's hand, and put it to his ear.

"Danny?! It's about time!" Jerry's voice brought with it a slew of memories, and Steve smiled. "I was starting to worry that maybe the toxic Siberian black snow had done you guys in!"

Steve was about to speak when he heard Grover's gruff tones in the background. "Enough with your theories already! Put that thing on speaker!" A second later, Lou's voice came clearly over the sat phone. "Danny? What's the word? Did you find him? Is he OK?"

"Hi, Lou… Jerry. They found me, and I'm all right... at least, I'm getting there." Steve grinned at the sound of Jerry cheering and Lou sighing in relief. He was pretty sure he heard a high five, too.

"Steve?! Man, it's good to hear your voice again! I'm sorry I couldn't be there too. I would've come, but—"

"I know. Don't worry about it. Danny told me about your mom. How's she doing, Lou?"

"Better. But listen... we can catch up later. Tell us what's happening."

"Let me hand the phone back to Danny. He knows more of the details than I do at this point. I look forward to seeing you again."

Steve held the phone out, and Danny took it. He gave Lou and Jerry a brief summary of events since the last time he'd checked in, finishing with, "We're traveling down to Mongolia now. Should make it to the Solovyovsk – Ereentsav border crossing sometime in the late afternoon. If we can get across without any trouble, we'll figure out the next step. We'll call again and update you when we can." Danny was quiet for a moment, then said, "Sounds good, Lou. Thanks. We're all of us ready to be home at this point." He hung up and slipped the phone back into its case on his belt.

"Everything worked out?"

"Yeah... we just have to get over the border. They'll take care of the rest. Apparently, Lou knows someone at the Embassy."

Steve grunted. "Just get over the border, huh?" His gaze shifted to Ji. "May be easier said than done. I sure hope the sergeant's contact pans out."

"Heh," Danny scoffed. "Thought you were the one who said we should trust him."

As he considered how to respond, Steve's fingers traced the colorful embroidery on his crisp linen tunic. "I do trust him. But I haven't met his friend, yet, now have I?"

Danny nodded and stretched. "Yeah, I get it. Look, at least we've got your passport, but Pak Hun Ji — he's got nothing, Steve. What's the likelihood they'll let him cross?"

"I'm not leaving without him." Steve's unfocused gaze wandered briefly to his Korean friend. "Look, Danny, the border is thousands of miles long. They can't guard every inch of it. I think you guys need to let us out a couple of miles before the crossing and we'll meet you on the other side."

"Don't be an—"

Steve had a feeling Danny's next word was either 'idiot,' or 'ass,' but he never got to find out for sure because Joe moved closer to them and clamped a hand on Steve's shoulder as he interrupted. "Not a chance. We're staying together. We'll find a way to make it work."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Joe, it's not like I—"

"Indulge me, son. We're not splitting up again."

Steve could hear the steel under Joe's words — he'd learned early on in BUD/S training never to defy that tone. He held up a hand in surrender. "All right, Joe. We'll do it your way."

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

By the time they reached the builder's small log house on the outskirts of Zakamennaya, Danny was more than ready to get out of the wagon. He'd felt every single bump and hole they'd lurched over along their drive, and the scent of hay and horses was making his eyes water. He stretched as he stepped down to the ground. Now that they'd found Steve, he was ready to be done traveling, to be home again, where he could hug on his kids and sleep in his own bed. He looked forward to seeing Grace's face when she saw her Uncle Steve again, alive and well. For the last few months, he'd only wanted two things — his brother to come home and his relationship with his daughter to be restored. Soon, he would have both.

The door of the house opened, and a grey-haired man stepped out and came down from the front stoop. He walked with a pronounced limp, leaning heavily on an ornately carved cane. Unlike Fyodor, he wore modern clothing — jeans, a knit sweater, and leather boots that looked to Danny as if they might have been custom-made. "Fedya, moy khoroshiy droog! Tak syurpriz!" The two men embraced, then Fyodor gestured toward his passengers, who now stood clustered behind him, and began speaking in rapid-fire Russian.

"He said something about a surprise, I think," Danny whispered to Alex.

She nodded. "Yes. He said 'Fedya, my good friend! Such a surprise!' Fyodor is telling him about us now and explaining our needs."

A moment later, Fyodor and his friend beckoned them closer. The friend stepped forward and gave a slight bow. "Good morning." He enunciated each English word carefully. "I am Bogdan Lvovich. I am pleased to meet you." Then he turned to Ji and bowed, speaking to him in what Danny figured had to be Korean. Ji's face brightened and he responded in his own language. They talked for a couple of minutes, and Danny noticed Pak Hun Ji digging in his pocket for something and then passing it to their host.

Next to Danny, Steve grinned, and Danny thought he looked relieved. "What just happened?" Danny asked quietly.

"Well, Danny, it seems to me we've just discovered the Russian equivalent to the Underground Railway."

Danny waited for him to elaborate, but Steve wouldn't say anything more, and Bogdan was busily conducting them into the cabin, where his wife Shoshana had laid out breakfast for them. She was a quiet woman with kind eyes and a shy smile whenever anyone complimented her cooking. Danny wished she would sit down and eat with them, but she devoted herself to serving instead.

In between roars of laughter and slaps on the back, Fyodor and Bogdan shared their story. They'd met ten years before when Bogdan had been hunting in the woods near the hidden village. He'd gotten himself caught in a bear trap, badly injuring his leg. About the time he'd given himself up for dead, Fyodor and his youngest son, Sasha, had found and rescued him. They brought him to their home and Valentina nursed him back to health. Over the week that he stayed with them, Bogdan and Fyodor had become good friends. Their friendship had deepened over the years since, and the two men visited one another frequently.

They spent only about half an hour at the table before Bogdan arose and announced, "We leave in ten minutes." He pointed them toward the washroom, then excused himself and ducked into another room while they made ready to go. Danny started to gather up dishes, but Shoshana suddenly found her tongue — she scolded him in Russian and tugged the plates out of his hands, then gestured for him to go with the others.

When Bogdan returned, he and Shoshana led the group back outside. The sky was a pale grey now, and the air was frigid. Danny checked his wristwatch. Seven o'clock. No sign of the sun. He hoped it wouldn't rain or snow. They didn't need any weather delays.

Arkady followed Fyodor back to the wagon, where the two spoke quietly for a few minutes. Then Arkady pulled his father into his arms and held him tight. Danny knew a goodbye when he saw one. Finally, Fyodor turned to the rest of the group and waved goodbye.

While his father climbed back into the wagon and took the reins, Arkady rejoined the others. "Proschai, Papa!" he called as he waved, then wiped a sleeve across his face to dry his tears.

"Proschai," Fyodor grunted. "Khran tebya Gospod." Without a backward glance, he set the horses in motion and the wagon rolled out of the yard and back onto the road.

"What was that about?" Danny whispered to Alex.

"They have said farewell," she said softly. "And the sergeant's father has asked the Lord to protect him. Sergeant Dushko is not going home with him."

"I cannot," Dushko said. He had stepped up beside Alex in time to overhear her translation. "It was very good to see my parents again, but their life is no longer mine."

Danny frowned. "I thought you couldn't go back to your post without Ryong."

Arkady smiled faintly. "You are correct. I cannot. Joe and I have discussed the matter. He is going to help me get a green card. I am going with you."

"We go now." Bogdan kissed his wife, then beckoned for the group to follow him. "We have long drive ahead."

He led them to a low-slung log structure behind the house. Danny had thought the building was a stable, but it turned out to be a garage. Inside was parked a fifteen-passenger van with darkened windows and rugged tires that seemed more suited to an all-terrain vehicle than a van. Bogdan opened the side door and climbed in. "Gather around, my friends. I show you something." When Danny peered inside, he saw four rows of bench seats and two captain seats in the front. Bogdan shoved both hands between the seat and the back cushions and triggered something — suddenly, the seat popped up, revealing a narrow space underneath.

"Under each long seat is a compartment of size to hide a person," Bogdan explained. "Before we reach border, the three who may have trouble... Mr. Pak, Commander McGarrett, Arkady... will hide until we may cross. I know several guards — if they are on duty, they look other way and do not bother with search, but if they are not, I assure you — no search has ever found these compartments. You may spend several hours hiding, but you will have plenty air to breathe. The space is dark, but not without comfort."

Danny frowned. He was glad he didn't need to hide — just the thought of lying down in that small space made him shiver. "What about the sergeant's friend — the one he thought would look the other way for the right incentive?"

"Best not risk this," Bogdan answered with a shake of his head. "Unless the sergeant knows when his friend has duty and is certain he would accept this bribe." He cast a pointed gaze in Dushko's direction, and after a moment, Dushko shook his head. "Then we use my method, which has proved successful many times."

Danny watched carefully as Bogdan closed the compartment, then opened it again. He made each of them learn to operate the latch. It was cleverly concealed, and Danny had trouble the first few tries, but finally managed it. Still, he had concerns. "What if the guards have dogs, or x-ray scanners?"

Bogdan chuckled. "No scanners. Dogs they do have. But dogs seek drugs, not people. They will smell your friends, of course, but it is expected that the inside of the vehicle will smell of its passengers. The guards will not know they not see everyone." He focused his gaze on Steve, Dushko, and Pak Hun Ji. "Those who hide must keep silent. And those who do not hide must not appear nervous, else guards suspect and we are delayed or turned back."

All this time, Bogdan had said nothing about any payment for his services. Danny wondered when that was coming. As far as he could tell, nothing in this country came free. Of course, he didn't mind a reasonable payment for services rendered, but he wanted to know up front how much it would be, and he wanted to be sure they weren't being taken advantage of. Uncertainty gnawed at him while the others practiced opening and closing the compartments, until the words finally burst out of him. "Listen, Bogdan — you haven't told us yet what you expect to get out of this, but we need to know. How much do you charge for your services and how much will it take to guarantee you won't turn us in?"

Bogdan turned his gaze on Danny and tilted his head slightly, seemingly unfazed by questions. "Direct and to the point, Detective. I appreciate your candor." He glanced at Arkady and asked him a question in Russian.

Arkady smiled and nodded. **"Koniechno."** He turned to Danny. "I will translate — he says he can say it more easily in Russian."

 **"Spasibo,** Arkady Fyodorovich." Bogdan continued, Arkady speaking his words in English for him. "As for what I expect to gain, it is simply this — the satisfaction of having done what is right and good, to help others in their need. I am no stranger to these logging camps; long ago, I worked on a construction crew at one of them, and I saw first-hand what a miserable place it was. When I encountered a few loggers who wished to escape, I sought a way to help them." He rubbed at the nape of his neck, then locked eyes with Danny. "Since then, I joined with others who think as I do, and together we have helped many more. This is why Fyodor brought you to me. I have no desire for profit, and my costs are covered by our group. I give you my word that I will not turn you in. You must decide whether you will accept my word or not. If you do not, you are welcome to find another way to cross the border." He gestured for them to get in, switching to English again. "Commander, you explain all to Mr. Pak? I speak only little Korean."

"No problem," Steve said as he turned to his Korean friend. When he had finished explaining, he climbed into the van and took his place on the first bench seat.

Danny followed, stunned into silence by Bogdan's response to his question. He settled himself next to Steve and reached instinctively for a seat belt before realizing there was none. When Bogdan climbed in the driver's seat, he leaned forward. "Thank you. I mean it. Sorry about my attitude… I'm just… cautious."

Bogdan gave a brisk nod. "As you should be, Detective. As you should be. But sometimes, you must choose to trust." He turned the key in the ignition, then backed the van out of the garage and headed for the road.

Danny leaned back in his seat, grateful that their journey was now that much closer to its end. He could hardly wait to board the flight that would take them home.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

The eight-hour drive to the border crossing at Solovyovsk was uneventful. They made a few brief stops to answer nature's call — never longer than five minutes — but otherwise they drove straight through. Shoshana had packed a bag with bread, cheese, and a variety of dried meats, which they passed around a few times.

About half an hour before they reached the border crossing, Bogdan informed them that it was time to hide. They quickly shifted about and the three men slipped into the hidden compartments.

Though the space was narrow and dark, Steve didn't find it terribly uncomfortable. It wasn't the Ritz, of course, but there was a soft pad to lie on, and fresh air coming in from somewhere. The engine below him warmed the small space, which smelled faintly of motor oil, but Steve knew he had been forced to lie still in worse positions plenty of times. He could manage this. He was pretty sure Dushko's training was similar to his own and that the sergeant would manage just fine. He only hoped Ji could stick it out. His fingers twitched, curling themselves around an imagined weapon. Steve hoped he wouldn't have to defend himself or his friends, but even without a weapon, he was prepared to do so if it came to that.

He knew they had reached the border crossing when the van slowed to a stop and he heard an unfamiliar voice. He wished he knew more Russian, but a moment later he heard Bogdan speaking to the rest of the crew in English. "We must get out while they perform a cursory search. Bring passports… leave all else. Have no worry, my friends. It is routine."

Steve patted his pocket, reassuring himself that his passport was there. Danny had given it to him earlier in the day. It wouldn't do for the guards to find the document, but no person to go with it. He could hear them searching through the vehicle — probably rifling through the bags and probing every nook and cranny for contraband. Once, he thought he heard a dog growling. Steve had a moment of tension when he thought someone was fiddling with the seat above him, but nothing happened, and he allowed himself to relax.

As he lay there in the darkness, his mind did some probing of its own, sifting through the memories that had returned to him and trying to fill in the pieces that were still missing or seemed misplaced. Back in the hunting cabin, he'd told Joe that most of it had come back. He hadn't been completely honest. He just figured he remembered enough, and he had been ready for the conversation to move on. More memories had returned since then, but not all. Some were foggy, some clear as day. And some were a tangle of contradictions.

Steve remembered losing his dad as if it had happened yesterday. Every second of that telephone call with Victor Hesse, the smells and the colors and the jumble of sounds that surrounded him when the transport he was on with Hesse's brother, Anton, was attacked... Hesse's demand that his brother be freed... John McGarrett's defiant last words... the sound of the shot that ended his dad's life and any chance for them to fully reconcile. Those memories brought a fresh wave of grief washing over him. But at the same time, there was a competing memory... the one he wanted to be true, but he didn't dare hope that it was — the memory of Danny arriving in time to save John McGarrett. Which strand was the truth? Steve's mind picked at the tangled knots, trying to separate reality from... what? A fevered dream? A fantasy? He wasn't sure.

Then there was his mother. Doris McGarrett. Killed in a car accident when he was in high school. He remembered vividly the ache in his heart at losing her and the anger he'd felt about his dad sending him and Mary away. But he also clearly remembered Doris and Mary embracing, and in that memory, his kid sister wasn't a kid anymore. Both memories couldn't be true, could they?

Steve squeezed his eyes tight. He would try to do more untangling later. For now, the activity above him seemed to have ceased. The next sound he heard was Danny grumbling and the seat creaking as he settled back into his place. "It's about time. That 'cursory search' took 'em a whole hour!"

"I have seen it take five hours, Detective," Bogdan answered. "And sometimes they tell you this crossing is closed to foreigners and send you on a 16-hour drive to the crossing at Kyakhta instead. So be grateful." Steve heard the doors slam shut and the engine start. The van lurched forward, and a few minutes later, the seat above him popped up and daylight shone in. Danny helped Steve climb out of his hiding place. In the row behind them, Arkady was emerging as well. Ji would remain in hiding until they were safely in Mongolia, as his lack of documentation made him more likely to be turned back or taken into custody.

They had to drive a short distance through no-man's land to reach the next crossing. Bogdan greeted the Mongolian guard like an old friend. They chatted in Russian for a few minutes, and then the man gave a quick glance at their passports before stamping them and waving the van through.

Danny elbowed Steve and murmured near his ear, "That was too easy... probably because our friend here slipped him a bottle of vodka with the passports."

"Hey, you gotta do what works, right, buddy?" Steve grinned, remembering the vodka he had appropriated to bribe the guard when they escaped the logging camp a couple weeks ago. Crazy, how much had happened in that short time. One thing was certain — he lived an interesting life. He thought he might just be ready for a little bit of boredom.


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Note: Thank you, dear readers, for your reviews and notes! I want to give credit to my dear friend and co-writer, katbybee, for helping me with some of the Steve/Danny repartee! We were just fooling around in FB Messenger and suddenly we had written what I call an "airgument," for reasons you will understand when you get there. Thank you, kat! And thank you as well for being an awesome beta reader!**

A note on the Korean I've used: I did extensive research online in hopes of assuring that my linguistic touches are accurate. However, I have made no formal study of Korean, so there could be mistakes - I welcome correction from those who know more than I. Some interesting notes that I found have had an impact on this chapter. First, I had misunderstood Korean naming conventions when, in a previous chapter, I gave Pak Hun Ji's son the name Pak Hun Min. Traditionally, he would share a generational name with his siblings and first cousins, rather than sharing his father's name. Therefore, I have renamed him Pak Yong Min. I also researched how married couples would address one another. It interested me to learn that among Koreans, adults don't often use given names. At least among the more traditional people, husband and wife would not refer to one another by their given names. Also, once children come along, it's common to refer to a woman as (using the Pak family as an example), "Yong Min's mother" (Yong Min umma) or a man as "Yong Min's father" (Yong Min appa).

 **At this point, I foresee one more chapter and an epilogue before this story is complete. Of course, that all depends on the characters not coming up with any twists of their own!**

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

 **Glossary**

 **Korean - English**

Chingu - Friend

Nampyeon - Husband

Yeobo - Sweetheart, dear; a term of endearment only used by married couples

An-nyeong-ha-se-yo - Polite greeting

Yong Min umma - Yong Min's mother; see note, above

Ban-gap-sum-ni-da - I am glad to meet you

Jal-ga - A farewell term, said by the person staying; literally, Go well

Jal-isso - A farewell term, said by the person leaving; literally, Stay well

Yong-Min appa - Yong Min's father; see note, above

 **Ukrainian - English**

Maidan Nezalezhnosti - Independence Square, a central square in Kyiv, Ukraine.

Holodomor – The Soviet-manufactured famine that killed millions of Ukrainians in 1932 – 33.

Andriivs'kyi Uzviz - St. Andrew's Descent, a pedestrian zone in Kyiv where vendors set up their carts and tourists barter for deals on souvenirs

Puzata Khata - A fantastic cafeteria-style restaurant chain in Kyiv with authentic Ukrainian food. The name means "Fat House." Sigh… now I'm hungry.

Dobriden - Good afternoon

Pani - Madame; my lady

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Once they got across the border, it seemed to Danny that things happened very quickly. Lou's friend at the Embassy, Special Attaché Carleton Fisher, had met them on the road just beyond the border compound, where they transferred into a helicopter he'd arranged to take them to Ulaanbaatar. If Danny hadn't been so tired of traveling, he might have thought twice before boarding another chopper, but he figured this one had three things going for it — first, it wasn't an antique predating the Vietnam War; second, Frank Bama wasn't the pilot; and third, it could get them to the capital within five hours, while driving would take more than twelve. They had arrived in the Mongolian capital in the dead of night and were delivered to a small guest house owned by the Embassy.

The following day, they had bid farewell to Frank Bama, who was anxious to get back to South Korea, and to Kono and Chin, who were flying home early to prepare for Steve's return. Steve wasn't cleared to fly yet, and they wanted to speak to the Governor and to Steve's sister Mary before the media had a chance to get hold of the story. That same day, Joe White worked his magic with the Ambassador and his contacts in the State Department to arrange for Pak Hun Ji's family to be admitted to the US as refugees. He'd also finagled visas for Arkady and Lyudmila.

After accomplishing that feat, Joe and Lyudmila had left to meet Lyudmila's brother Sergei in Kyiv. Joe planned to pull whatever strings it took to get Sergei to the States for his physical rehabilitation. Alex had joined them, eager to finish the story she had started back when she first met Sergei. Danny wondered whether she minded not getting to break Steve's story to the world. She'd signed a binding agreement not to. She could have written up the CIA-approved version of Steve's reappearance, but she said she wasn't interested. "I get why whatever he was doing has to remain a secret," she said, "and I'm not going to dig any deeper, even though it would probably make my career. But I won't write lies. Someone else can do that."

Danny wasn't any more interested in lies than Alex was, but as Steve's best friend and colleague, he had no choice. And so he had sat up late that first night with the CIA attaché, Joe White, and Steve, discussing their options. According to the original cover story, Steve's body had been considered unrecoverable, so it was easy enough to say that he'd survived his fall after all. He'd lain unconscious for an undetermined length of time, but then awoke and found himself with amnesia and a badly injured arm. By some miracle, he'd made his way down the mountain and to a trail where he was given aid by a group of tourists. With no memory and without his passport or other identification, no one knew who he was until an American journalist happened to recognize him.

"And yada, yada, yada," Danny threw out. "It's flimsy. Too many people know the truth. It'll come out eventually."

"Rumors, perhaps, Detective Williams," the attaché had said in a breezy tone, as if he discussed such matters on a daily basis. "But rumors with no substantiation. No proof. We can suppress evidence that the Commander was ever in Mongolia or Russia, and I really don't think we need to worry about some backwater Russian Amish or a smuggler who wishes to keep his operation secret blowing the whistle. And North Korea? Well, they won't ever admit they had him in their grasp and he slipped through their fingers. They want to save face over this whole affair. We just need reassurance from you and your colleagues that the matter will remain classified."

Danny's hands flew as his frustration mounted. "There's that word. _Classified._ Did you tell them I hate that word, Steve? What am I supposed to tell my little girl, who never bought the climbing accident story in the first place? 'Sorry, Honey, you were right, he's alive, but it's _classified?'"_

"Danny..." Steve had leaned forward and put his hand on Danny's arm. Danny sat back, scowling, but calmer. "You'll tell her to be glad I'm alive and leave it at that. Grace is a smart girl. She'll get it."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Danny sighed and scrubbed a hand across his face. "Fine. You want me to sign something, I'll sign it. But what about Pak Hun Ji and Sergeant Dushko and the good doctor?"

"You will let us worry about them," the attaché said. Danny had wanted to wipe the smug smile off the man's face with his fist, but Steve's hand lightly squeezing his arm was enough to keep him grounded, and the long meeting had finally come to a close.

Now Danny stood by Pak Hun Ji's side inside the Embassy gates. Steve had wanted to be with Pak when he saw his wife and child for the first time in three years, but Steve was currently back at the guest house, tethered to an IV pole and on enforced bed rest until Hiram Schiller, the Embassy's medical officer, deemed him fit to get up. Arkady had volunteered to stay with Steve and make sure he cooperated. And so Steve had commissioned Danny to take his place at his Korean friend's side.

"This stinks, Danny," he'd complained. "I was up and walking around back at the Antonovs' and I was just fine. I don't see why I have to stay in this bed. It's important that I be there — Ji is ohana!"

Danny groaned. "Will you just do what you're told for once in your Neanderthal animal life? Schiller says you need to finish this course of antibiotics before you get up."

Steve's eyes narrowed and he grumbled, "I don't like Schiller. You heard how he talked to Lyudmila, didn't you? Like she was gum stuck to his shoe. He's not even a full doctor, for crying out loud."*

"Yeah, I know. Schiller's a jerk. But Lyudmila said he's right about this. So at least take her advice and stay here. Let me take care of Pak, all right?"

"Yeah, whatever." Steve angled his eyes away from Danny's. "Just go. I already told Ji I couldn't be there."

Danny wasn't sure he should trust Steve. In fact, he was pretty sure he shouldn't. If he'd brought his handcuffs, he would be tempted to use them. "All right, then. You promise you'll stay put?"

Of course, Steve had promised. And Danny had backed away, unconvinced. Now they were at the Embassy, waiting for the helicopter carrying Ji's family to land in the parking lot. Next to him, Pak Hun Ji stood ramrod straight, the only physical sign of his nervousness the way he twisted and rubbed his hands together. Danny wished he knew something encouraging to say in Korean, or that Pak could speak more than a little bit of broken English. He was about to lean over and say something in Pak's ear anyway when he noticed a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. "Perfect timing," he muttered as he turned to see exactly what he'd been expecting. Steve, striding across the parking lot dressed in the new clothes Arkady had procured for him.

"So this is how you keep your promises?" Danny yelled across the distance separating them.

"Excuse me?" Steve returned. "Did I promise you something? You'll have to forgive me, I have amnesia."

Danny rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right... I can see you're going to be milking that one for all it's worth. What about your IV?"

"Every drop. And what IV?" Steve moved between Danny and Ji and clapped Ji on the shoulder. He said something to him in Korean and then pointed up at the dark spot against the sky that had to be a helicopter.

Anything else Danny might have said was drowned out as the helicopter descended, setting down a couple hundred feet away from them. Steve's hand held Ji back until the rotors stopped turning. Then he let go and Pak took a couple steps forward. At the same time, the side door of the helicopter opened and a young woman in a US Marine uniform stepped out. She turned to lift down a small boy, and then offered her hand to a woman.

Mrs. Pak accepted the hand and stepped down to stand blinking in the bright sunlight for a moment before the Marine escort moved her away from the helicopter. She kept a tight grip on the child at her side. A petite woman, she wore an ankle-length skirt and a blue coat over a white blouse. Short dark hair, greying around the temples, framed her face in soft waves. Danny wondered whether the lines around her eyes attested more to the stresses of her life or to her age. She was pencil-thin, as was the boy, whose ill-fitting jacket hung down to his knees. She glanced around, and then her gaze settled on Pak Hun Ji and she took a step forward. **"Nampyeon,"** she breathed out. She glanced downward, as if suddenly bashful.

Pak Hun Ji's face lit up with a bright smile. **"Yeobo!"** he said. Danny expected him to catch her in his arms. Instead, he stopped in front of her and gave a deep bow before taking her hands in his own. She smiled up at him and they talked in soft tones for a moment. When Pak Hun Ji knelt down to greet his son, the little boy hid behind his mother's skirt, but with a little cajoling, he finally stepped forward and bowed, then slid a small hand into his father's.

"Steve," Pak called. "Book 'Em Danno! You come, brah… meet wife and son."

Danny chuckled as he and Steve strode across the parking lot. For the last several days, the Korean had proven eager to practice what little English Steve had taught him during their long journey, and that English was peppered with Hawaiian slang.

"This my wife," Pak said, nodding to her. He was beaming with pleasure, which only intensified as he looked down at his little boy. "And this... Yong Min."

Danny bowed and smiled at Pak's wife. **"An-nyeong-ha-se-yo,"** he said, carefully enunciating the greeting as Pak had taught him. He stretched out a hand, but she did not take it, responding instead with a slight nod and a shy smile.

Steve bowed as well. "An-nyeong-ha-se-yo," he echoed. **"Yong Min umma, ban-gap-sum-ni-da."**

"Show off," Danny muttered as he gave Steve a good-natured elbow to the ribs.

"Hey!" Steve protested. "I was just being polite!"

Danny rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right. Come on. The Paks have to go to debriefing, and we need to get you back to the guest house before Schiller gets wind of your escape."

Steve frowned. "I should go with them… translate for them."

"No need." The Marine who had accompanied Mrs. Pak on the flight turned from a quiet conversation with Mrs. Pak to Steve and Danny. "Staff Sergeant Emily Turner. I've been assigned to stay with the Paks while they are in country. I'll take them to their debriefing now, then bring them to your residence when they're done. Don't worry — your friends are in good hands."

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Alex stopped at Sergei's hospital room door. She was happy to be back in Kyiv. The grand old city had seen dark days over the last century, but these days it was vibrant, throbbing with life. She'd spent yesterday evening with Joe and Lyudmila, visiting important sites around the city, almost as if on a pilgrimage. They'd visited **Maidan Nezalezhnosti,** where the Euromaidan protests had taken place, then walked up Hrushevski Street, to visit the memorial to the Heavenly Hundred — the protesters who had died there. They'd meandered through the golden-domed St. Michael's Cathedral after paying respects to the victims of the **Holodomor** at the monument located just outside the church grounds. Finally, for a little while they'd just been tourists, taking a leisurely stroll down the **Andriivs'kyi Uzviz,** laughing and talking with the many vendors and buying gifts for her family back home, capping the evening off with a tasty dinner at **Puzata Khata.** But they weren't here as pilgrims or tourists. They were here to see Sergei and arrange for his transport to the US for his physical rehabilitation, if he agreed. Alex would go with him, following his progress for the story she was writing. She had come to discuss the matter with him while Joe and Lyudmila ironed out details at the US Embassy.

 _Why are you so nervous?_ she asked herself. _It's just another story._ But it wasn't. She couldn't deny she'd been attracted to the man the first time she'd met him. His scruffy beard… his chiseled features… the kindness in his dark eyes. She hadn't been looking for a relationship — her chosen work didn't exactly lend itself to anything lasting, after all, and she wasn't interested in a fling — but that didn't mean she didn't notice a handsome guy when she saw one.

She had dismissed thoughts of Sergei after leaving Kyiv a couple of weeks ago, but now that she was about to see him again, her stomach fluttered, and she felt like she had that time in fifth grade when she was crushing on her older brother's best friend Zeke. "Oh Zeke," she whispered, and she blinked back tears. They'd dated for a while when she was in high school, but he went into the military right after graduation. Deployed to Afghanistan, he had never come home. Alex trembled slightly, then brushed the memory away before raising her hand to knock on Sergei's door.

When the ever-faithful Taras opened the door and saw her standing there, he gave her a broad smile before wrapping her in his arms and lifting her a foot off the ground. **"Dobriden, pani!"** he exclaimed as he planted a kiss on her cheek. "Fox will be glad to see you! He speaks of you often. I am also glad you have come, for I must return to my unit tomorrow." He shrugged and his smile faded. "I do not like to leave my brother alone. Sit — talk. I will bring tea."

Alex nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She swallowed the lump in her throat, then moved around Taras, summoning a smile to her lips. "Sergei… dobriden. It's good to see you again." She pulled an empty chair close to the bedside and sat down.

"And I am glad to see you, Alex Murphy."

His intense gaze made her a little nervous, and she could feel herself blushing. She glanced down for just a second as she worked to get control of her expression. At last, she met his eyes again. "Lyudmila is here too… I mean… in Kyiv. She will come see you soon. I… that is… we… want to talk with you about something."

The corners of his lips turned just barely upward and his eyes danced. "Must I wait until she arrives?"

"No, no… That's why I came now. But you'll want to think about it and then talk it over with her. Sergei, first of all, I want to thank you. Because of you and Lyudmila, we found Steve. He's going home and he's going to be all right."

Sergei shifted, using the trapeze bar that hung over his bed to pull himself into a sitting position. "This is very good news, Alex Murphy."

The way he said her last name — drawing out the U and rolling the R — made her stomach somersault. _Stop it, Alex. Your interest here is purely professional!_ She cleared her throat. "He and his friends want to sponsor you for physical rehabilitation in the United States. They already have US government approval and we have found an organization that will arrange for your transportation and set up your medical care there. If you are willing, I would like to follow your progress and write that story we discussed the first time I met you."

"You would go with me?"

The combination of his arched eyebrows and his mischievous grin just about did her in, but she managed to squeak out an answer. "Every step of the way."

He reached to grab her hand in his and give it a squeeze. "Then I will go."

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

About ten minutes before Schiller was scheduled to return, Steve slid back into his bed. Danny stood nearby, his glare so intense Steve could feel it.

"Instead of radiating disapproval like that, you could help me with this, ya know." Steve nodded toward the IV tubing. "That needs to go back in the cannula."

 _"_ _You_ disconnected it," Danny said. _"You_ put it back. I wanna see how Super SEAL managed it with a bum wing."

"He never said he did it himself," a voice from behind Danny said.

Steve leaned back against the pillows, a triumphant grin spreading across his face. "Arkady, my man." He raised his left hand and curled it to offer a fist bump to Dushko, who had brushed past Danny and moved to the bedside.

"What, you helped him?! Unbelievable!" Danny was pacing the room now. Though all Steve could see of him was a moving blur, he could hear Danny's voice coming from one side of the room and then the other. "You said you were going to keep him out of trouble!"

Arkady shrugged. "He said he was going whether I helped him or not, and I could not blame him." The Russian inserted the tube back into the cannula, then smoothed the medical tape over it. "As I see it, I was keeping him out of trouble — had he attempted to disconnect it himself, he might have done more damage." He stepped back and leaned against the wall and the Danny-blur stopped moving just as a voice sounded in the doorway.

"Done more damage to what?" The PA's voice grated on Steve's nerves. A bit of a nasal whine and a huge helping of superiority made the man way too much a reminder of Dr. Orlov back at the logging camp.

"Nothing at all," Steve said. "Just talking over events of the last couple weeks."

"Perhaps you were discussing your identical twin, whom I just happened to see walking back here from the Embassy?" Schiller brushed past Danny and grasped Steve's arm firmly. He tore off the tape so he could examine the cannula. "That was a foolish stunt, Commander. You are fortunate you did not cause yourself a catheter embolism. It would serve you right if I delayed your departure another day, but I am as anxious to be rid of you as you are to be done with me." He made quick work of disconnecting the IV again. "I hereby declare you fit for travel by medical transport. Special Attaché Fisher has made the arrangements and will give you all further details." After bandaging the IV site, he quickly packed his bag and stepped back. "Goodbye, Commander... Sergeant... Detective. I wish you well. I will let myself out."

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

"No way! Then I'm not going either!" Steve's eyes narrowed and he pounded a fist on the table. Carleton Fisher sat across from him, the unfortunate bearer of news Steve didn't want to hear — that the Pak family would not be traveling with him that day. Instead, they would remain as guests of the Embassy for another month before traveling on to the US.

"I'm sorry, Commander. I know it's —"

Steve leaned forward, his good hand massaging his left temple, which had begun to throb. "Not what we agreed on. Not what was promised. Not the way things are going to go."

Danny put a hand on his arm, but Steve yanked away. "C'mon, Steve. This isn't helping."

"Like hell it isn't," Steve growled. He glared at Fisher. "Fix it."

Fisher threw up his hands. "I can't, Commander. I tried. I'm sorry."

Across the table, Ji spoke up, his English broken but his meaning clear. "Stop. I talk... with my friend… us alone. You all go."

When the others had cleared the room, Ji moved around the table. He bent low enough that Steve could see his serious expression, and he lay a hand on Steve's shoulder. "This is how it must be, my friend... my brother. We will come to Honolulu in one month's time. Your people have promised this." His dark brown eyes radiated faith and hope, and Steve desperately wished he could be sure it wasn't misplaced. He knew the deal the Paks had received in exchange for Ji's signature on the confidentiality agreement — resettlement in Hawaii, language and job training, and a fast-track to citizenship. A sweet deal, one that few North Korean defectors could hope for. Steve wished he could share Ji's optimism, but until they were all together in Hawaii, he was going to worry that the plan would go sideways.

"I could stay here, Ji," he offered. "I've waited this long for surgery... another month won't make much —"

"No." Ji's firm tone silenced Steve. "We will be all right. My family needs this time together before we make another long journey. I will get to know my wife again... my son. And you will return to your life, to what is familiar, with your family to support you."

Steve swallowed hard. This man had been through hell with him, and he found it hard to say goodbye. "You are part of my family, Ji. You and your wife and son." He clasped Ji's arm. "I'm not going to lie to you — life in the States can be good, but it isn't going to be easy. You'll have to work hard. But I want you to know, whatever you need, 5-0 is always going to have your back, brother. Just like you've had mine."

Ji nodded and smiled. "I know. Now, you must make ready to go. I will say to you now, **jal ga,** chingu."

 **"** **Jal isso.** We will see each other in Honolulu soon."

 **"** **Yong Min appa,"** a soft voice said from the doorway.

Steve wasn't sure how long Ji's wife had been waiting there, but he figured she'd been hesitant to interrupt, speaking up only now that it was clear their conversation had reached its end. He glanced downwards, then nodded his chin toward the door. "Go spend time with your beautiful wife. I'm really happy for you, Ji."

Ji smiled and arched an eyebrow. "Yes, I am happy for me too. Travel well. We will see each other soon." He patted Steve's shoulder, then slipped away.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

"Commander McGarrett! You sure are a sight for sore eyes!" The pilot stepped down from the air ambulance, a big grin plastered on his face as he approached Steve, who sat glowering in the wheelchair Schiller had insisted he use.

Steve showed no signs of recognizing the friendly man dressed in a Navy uniform and wearing the SEALS trident. Of course, it could just be because Steve couldn't see him properly. Danny peered at his name tag, then bent down and spoke quietly in Steve's ear. "Lt. Jamie Powell, fellow Super SEAL."

A frown darkened Steve's face for just a fraction of a second, but he nodded. "Lieutenant Powell. Good to see you."

"We sure thought we'd lost you, Commander. I'm glad it wasn't true." Powell had lowered his voice so that only Steve and Danny could hear him. "Looks like you had a rough time of it though."

"Not sure what you're talking about, Lieutenant," Steve said smoothly. "I had a climbing accident... my memory is kind of spotty. Anyway… let me introduce my friends, Danny Williams and Arkady Dush —"

"Antonov," Arkady corrected, and he held out a hand to shake Powell's. "Glad to meet you."

Powell's brow furrowed, but then smoothed and he nodded. "Of course, Sir. Well, it's good to see you're on the mend. Williams, Antonov, I'm glad to meet you. I'll be flying you to Naples today and they'll take good care of you there. We've got a couple of paramedics flying with us. Come on aboard and we'll make sure you're comfortable."

"Thanks, Lieutenant."

Once they were in the air, Danny allowed himself to relax fully for the first time since they'd boarded their flight at the airfield in Honolulu. Hell... it was probably the first time he'd relaxed since the day Joe and Catherine had come to the Palace with their news. _Dammit... Catherine. I never even told her we were coming after Steve. So much for relaxing._ He cracked his knuckles and stretched, then sat up straight.

In the seat next to him, Steve punched Danny lightly on the shoulder. "What's wrong, buddy?"

Danny rubbed a hand through his hair. "What do you mean, what's wrong? Why does anything have to be wrong?" he groused.

Steve rolled his eyes. "And now you're getting defensive, which makes me doubly sure something's wrong. Come on, Danny. I may have holes in my memory, but I know you. Spill it."

"To think I missed this," Danny muttered as he shifted in his seat. "I'd tell you just shoot me now, but you already did that." He rubbed lightly at his injured shoulder.

Steve scoffed. "I should've aimed a little lower."

"Haha… Real funny." Danny narrowed his eyes. "And who would you fight with then, huh?"

Lifting a corner of his mouth in a wry grin, Steve snarked, "Well, at least I wouldn't have to listen to so much complaining."

Danny's eyebrows shot up and indignation sparked in his eyes. "Oh yes, you would. I would haunt you. Forever."

Steve leaned his head back and laughed. "Good thing I know a Hawaiian priest or two who can deal with ghosts."

"Oh, but I'm not Hawa —" Danny stopped suddenly when he noticed the paramedic across the aisle, her lips twitching as if she were trying to keep from laughing. "Hey, could we get something to drink? Gotta keep a SEAL hydrated, ya know."

Steve aimed his most innocent smile past Danny. "Just ignore him. He gets demanding when he's cranky."

The paramedic laughed. "Oh, I think I can manage him, Commander. I'm not a flight attendant, Mr. Williams. If you want a drink, there are bottles of water and soda in the cooler in the galley. Help yourself."

With a roll of his eyes, Danny continued. "As I was saying, sorry, but your priest wouldn't work on me. I'm not Hawaiian." He got up and moved the few steps to the galley in the back of the plane.

Steve called back to him over his shoulder, "Hey, if I have to call in a Jersey priest, pal, I can do that. Or maybe I'll just put pineapple pizza all around my house to keep your spirit at bay."

Standing there in the aisle, Danny just about doubled over as he tried to hold back a laugh, and he feigned a coughing fit until he could get control. "Nope, that wouldn't work either. Remember, we're blood brothers. We share a liver. You are NEVER getting rid of me. Besides, I won't be able to taste that nasty stuff after I'm dead, so I wouldn't care." Danny slid back into his seat. He opened a bottle of water and handed it to Steve, then took a swig from his own.

Steve shrugged. "Well, guess I won't shoot you then. Besides, it would make a big mess, and it might depressurize the plane and get us all killed."

Danny shook his head. "You're a real sentimentalist, aren't you, pal?" Heaving a long sigh, he leaned back and was just quiet for a moment. "Damn, but that felt good."

Steve raised his hand for a fist bump. "It sure did. Now... tell me what was bothering you."

"Fine." Danny sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "It's just... Catherine was pretty broken up by what happened. Blamed herself. At first, she was helping me look for you. But over time... well... it seemed like she just gave up hope and kind of drifted away. When Alex showed up —" His voice broke off and he swallowed hard. "Well, I never even told Catherine. I figured I would text her from the airfield or something, let her know what was happening. But I didn't. And I feel like a real heel for that." He stared downward, suddenly transfixed by a loose button at the cuff of his shirt.

Steve kept silent for a moment, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. Finally, he turned to face his friend. "Listen, Danny. Catherine has her own way of dealing with things. When we get home, I'll contact her. We'll figure it out. You were there for me when I needed you, and that's what really matters."

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

 **Note**

*According to my research, in developing nations, US Embassy staff and their families are serviced by Foreign Service Health Practitioners, who are either Nurse Practitioners or Physician's Assistants working under the supervision of a regional medical officer. In the case of the Embassy in Mongolia (at least as of 2006, the most recent data I could find), the regional medical officer from Beijing, China, makes periodic visits.


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Note: I had lots of fun writing this chapter, and I hope you enjoy reading it. Thank you for staying with me through this story. We've just got an epilogue coming up before I type 'the end' and turn my focus to _Invasion._ I would like to thank katbybee, beta-reader extraordinaire, for her help with this chapter. Not only did she provide Danny's dialogue for the discussion on the lanai, but she also gave me direction for the last few paragraphs when I was floundering. You are awesome, kat!**

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

They stayed in Naples just long enough for Steve to get checked over and approved for the next flight to the States. Dr. James Fletcher of the US Naval Hospital tried to convince them it would be better for Steve to have surgery and take a little time to recover before an extended flight, but Steve insisted he wanted to be treated at Tripler. Danny couldn't blame him, and he had to admit he was relieved to see more and more of the old Steve coming back, maddening though he could be. Other than those last few weeks before his capture, his memory seemed to be fully intact now, and he was getting harder and harder to corral. Danny was pretty sure he'd overheard more than one nurse complaining about stubborn SEALS and what difficult patients they made. As far as he was concerned, SEALS — especially this one — were just plain difficult.

And so it was with a sense of relief that they boarded the flight home — another medical transport, this one larger and intended for intercontinental flights, and this time they had a doctor traveling with them instead of a couple of paramedics. Commander Fletcher was heading home on leave and had snagged one of the empty seats. Danny felt more confident with his presence, just in case any of the risks they'd been warned about actually happened.

The flight went smoothly until about an hour before they were to touch down in Honolulu, when Danny glanced over at his friend and noticed that his eyes were pinched, his face tight. "Need some pain meds on board, babe?"

"I'm fine." Steve spat out the words like venom.

"Hey! You don't have to bite my head off just for being concerned, Pal! And you're not fine." Danny knew Steve would never actually admit to being in pain, but the way his jaw was clenched and his face flushed, well, it didn't take a detective to see that he was struggling. Danny craned his neck to look over the back of his seat to where Fletcher sat next to a dozing Arkady. "Hey, Doc. We need you over here."

He expected a protest, but it didn't come. Instead, Steve just sat there as if frozen in place, except for some twitching in his fingers. His eyes darted wildly back and forth and a sheen of sweat shone on his brow.

Fletcher was across the aisle in a heartbeat, kneeling next to his patient even as he called for the flight nurse to bring him the medical kit. As the slender fingers of one hand wrapped around Steve's wrist, he reached with the other to fully recline the seat. Then he gently turned Steve on his side, all the while speaking in calm, soothing tones. "Commander, you are having a seizure. I know it is disconcerting, but it should end soon. Focus on the sound of my voice and let me talk you through it."

"A seizure?!" Danny tried to tamp down the panic that was building in his gut. If he'd been standing right now, he would be pacing the aisle while he fretted, but at the moment there was no space for him to squeeze past Steve. Instead, he nervously drummed his knuckles on his knee while he watched. "Um... shouldn't we be putting something in his mouth? Keep him from swallowing his tongue?"

Dr. Fletcher's lips briefly narrowed into a grim line before he answered without ever taking his eyes off Steve or changing his tone. "One of the more dangerous myths, Detective. Just wait. It will pass." He continued to speak soothingly, his eyes locked on Steve's.

Less than a minute later, Steve's twitching stilled. A shudder passed through him and he gulped in a deep breath, then glanced around, suddenly pale. "A' right," he slurred, "that was... weird." He locked gazes with the doctor, then reached to grasp his hand. "Thanks, Doc."

Dr. Fletcher nodded. "You could hear me?" He checked Steve's eyes and then reached for his wrist again before helping him sit up.

"Yeah... heard... everything. Jus' couldn't... respond or move. It was kinda... surreal... not sure... how t' explain it." Steve's speech was still slurred and Danny noticed that his eyelids were beginning to droop.

"Doc?" Danny's worried gaze moved from Steve to his doctor and back to Steve. "What's going on now?"

Fletcher glanced briefly at Danny. "Exhaustion. Any seizure takes a physical toll." Then he cupped Steve's cheek in his hand. "Stay with me for just a little longer, Commander. You've had a focal aware seizure and it could well be the result of flying with your injuries. Can you tell me what you felt just before it started?"

Steve's brow furrowed briefly. "Headache... some nausea... m' arm got numb."

"And yet he insisted he was all right," Danny muttered.

Dr. Fletcher ignored the comment. "Hopefully, this will be the only one you ever have, but I won't lie — it could be a precursor to something more serious." He checked his watch. "Normally, I would ask the pilot to make an emergency landing, but at this point we'll reach Honolulu faster than we could get anywhere else. I'll have the flight nurse radio ahead to assure an ambulance is waiting for you. You're going straight from the airfield to Tripler." He raised his eyes to Danny once again. "I'd like to transfer him to the gurney, Detective Williams, so he doesn't have to be sitting upright at landing. Then I'll monitor him until we land." He must have caught the anxiety in Danny's expression because he offered a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, he'll be just fine."

"'M good, Danno." Steve gave Danny's arm a weak squeeze. "Jus'... tired. Sorry I snapped at you. Don' know why I did that."

"Completely normal under the circumstances, Commander," the doctor said. "My prescription for you right now is some good sleep and absolutely no stress."

"Sure thing, Doc." Danny patted Steve's shoulder. "Don't worry about it, Pal. Get some rest." He helped the doctor transfer Steve, then slid into an empty seat that allowed him to keep an eye on his friend.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

They touched down at Hickam Airfield about 45 minutes later. Danny watched out the window as they taxied down the runway. Behind him, he could hear Arkady, now awake, talking with the flight nurse about his first sight of the United States. Danny tuned him out. He was more interested in what he could see as they approached the hangar.

The ambulance Fletcher had requested was waiting, along with a crowd of people. Some were people he'd expected. Danny could pick out Chin and Kono, Lou and Jerry, and Mary and Joan. Rachel was there too, with Grace and Charlie. The sight of his son brought a smile to Danny's face. Even from a distance, he could see the boy bouncing up and down with excitement as he held up a colorful sign that read, "Welcome Home, Uncle Steve!" Kamekona and Flippa flanked the gathering like a pair of bookends, their smiles stretching from ear to ear. Front and center, in the midst of a cluster of HPD officers, Governor Mahoe and the Lieutenant Governor waited. Finally, off to one side, the press hovered, clearly eager to make the front pages with the story of Commander McGarrett's return from the dead.

Danny frowned and glanced over at Steve, who was sound asleep. _Last thing he needs is to be mobbed_. Danny looked out the window again, squinting in the sunlight as he studied the crowd. Then he pulled out his cell phone and texted Lou. _Hey… can we cut down on the crowd? Get rid of the vultures?_

The plane had stopped now, and Danny saw Lou glance at his phone. He started to move his thumb across the screen, then shook his head. A second later, Danny's phone vibrated and the name Grover flashed on the screen.

"Hey, Lou. Good to see you again." Danny watched out the window and saw Lou move away from the cluster of reporters and journalists. He kept his voice down to avoid waking Steve. "Wish you hadn't brought so much company."

Lou's gravelly voice echoed Danny's disapproval. "Well, I sure as hell didn't invite them. Damned publicity stunt is what this is."

Danny rubbed a hand across his face. "All right… just keep them off the plane when the paramedics come on. We had some complications during the flight and Steve doesn't need any stress."

"What kind of complications are you talking about?" Danny glanced out the window to see Lou rubbing his neck, a deep frown darkening his expression.

"Steve had a seizure," Danny explained. "He's OK now, but he's wiped out. The doc we've got on board wants him to go straight to Tripler from here. Your reporters aren't going to get the interview I'm sure they want, so try to move them back."

"You got it. And Danny, welcome back. Thanks for bringing our boy home." Lou cut off the call and Danny watched as he moved over to Duke and the two talked quietly. Meanwhile, the ground crew made preparations so that the paramedics could board the plane and take care of getting Steve to the ambulance.

With Duke's help, Lou managed to move the reporters to a respectable distance, though Danny was acutely aware of the television cameras recording every move as he stepped off the plane behind Dr. Fletcher. He ignored the inevitable hail of questions from the reporters and instead made his way to greet his family and the rest of 5-0. Before he reached them, Charlie had broken away from Rachel's hand on his shoulder and run toward him shouting, "Danno! Uncle Steve came home! He isn't dead anymore!"

Danny chuckled. "I know, buddy." He mussed the boy's hair, then bent to pick up him up and hug him close.

Charlie bounced in his dad's arms. "Where is he, Danno? I wanna show him my sign!"

"Uncle Steve is sleeping right now and he has to go to the hospital for a little bit, but your mom will bring you to see him later and you can show him the sign then." Danny kissed his son's head, then looked past him to Grace.

She had come behind her brother, a bit tentatively and with a rueful smile on her face. She stood a few feet away from her father, watching him with Charlie. Danny set the boy on his feet, then closed the distance between himself and his daughter and pulled her into his arms. It felt like a lifetime since he'd seen her last, and she hadn't been speaking to him then. He planted a kiss on her head. "I love you, Monkey."

The dam broke. Tears pooled in Grace's eyes and then spilled over as she returned her father's hug. She stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek, then whispered in his ear. "I'm sorry, Danno. I love you too." Then she pulled away and looked up at him. Her tears couldn't quench the glint of mischief in her eyes. "But you have to admit, I told you so!"

Everyone laughed as Danny wrapped an arm around Grace's neck. "C'mere, you. Yes, you told me so, I'll give you that. C'mon... you need to meet a new friend of mine." Danny beckoned Arkady over and introduced him all around. Finally, he glanced at his watch and then sighed. The ambulance had already left with Steve, and Duke had followed with Mary and Joanie. Danny felt the need to join them as soon as possible. "I need to get over to Tripler. Chin, maybe you could give me a ride? And Lou… you can help get Arkady settled, then join us at the hospital? I know you want to see Steve, but the doc says he's liable to sleep for several hours yet."

"Of course." Lou stretched out a hand to shake with Arkady. "Sergeant, my wife has dinner cooking and our guest room all set up for you, if you'd like to stay with us. I imagine you've got some pretty serious jet lag going on."

"Thank you, Captain Grover. I would welcome an opportunity to... how do you say it... Freshen up."

Danny had turned to leave with Chin, but stopped when he felt a soft tug at his sleeve. He looked down to see Charlie staring awestruck at the tall Russian. Danny bent down. "What's up, Buddy?"

Charlie whispered in his ear — well, he attempted a whisper, but everyone could hear him. "Danno, is he a giant?!"

Danny looked downward for a moment while he mastered his expression. He knew how much Charlie wanted to be taken seriously, but sometimes the temptation to laugh was hard to resist. Before he could answer, Arkady was kneeling down so that he could look Charlie in the eyes. "Charlie Williams, I am pleased to meet you. You must be a fine fellow indeed, for you have raised a fine father. You can be very proud of Book 'Em Danno."

Charlie beamed and Danny's cheeks warmed. He squeezed his son's shoulder and shook his head. "All right, all right. Enough of that. Let's go, Chin. Charlie... Grace... your mother is waiting for you." He nodded them toward Rachel, then hurried away with Chin to his car.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Steve was pretty sure he had never felt as discouraged as he did right now. Oh, make no mistake, he was thrilled to be home. But he couldn't help feeling that, after all the anticipation of his homecoming, it had turned out to be a rather anticlimactic affair. For starters, he couldn't even remember the landing because he'd slept through it. The freakin' seizure had put him out of commission for the better part of the day. By the time he woke up and realized he was no longer on the plane, he had been a patient at Tripler for several hours. He hadn't been planning to kiss the ground or anything hokey like that, but he had planned to demand that he walk off the plane on his own two feet. Instead he got carried off on a gurney without even knowing it.

There were bright spots here and there, of course. He'd had no further seizures, and after much testing, Dr. Fletcher seemed certain that a recurrence was unlikely. Fletcher, who as it turned out had done his residency at Tripler and still had privileges there, had more or less laid claim to Steve's case. For that, Steve was grateful. Not only was Fletcher an excellent neurosurgeon with a stellar reputation, but he had a calming way about him. But for all that Fletcher had said in an attempt to lift his patient's spirits, Steve just couldn't shake the fear that he'd reached the end of his luck. He was beginning to realize that his recovery would be much longer and harder than he was used to. In the past, he had walked off a lot of injuries, and he had a way of bouncing back fast from anything bad that happened to him. Even the radiation poisoning had been a cakewalk compared to this. And so he had convinced himself that he would have the surgery to repair his skull and relieve the pressure on his optic nerve that was causing him so much trouble with his vision, and he would have surgery on his bum arm, and when he woke up he would be back to normal. Dr. Fletcher had worked hard to relieve him of this unrealistic expectation, but Steve figured the good doctor was just hedging his bets.

But in the three weeks since his return, the surgeries had been done, and the progress wasn't nearly as quick as Steve would have liked. His vision remained blurred, though Fletcher said it would improve over time. His arm ached. The orthopedic surgeon said he would have to wear a cast for a couple of months before starting therapy, and that it could be up to a year before they knew if the nerve repair had been successful. Steve was bound and determined to cut that time in half. "Six months, tops," he had declared to Danny. "Make that three. I gotta get back to work."

At least today he was getting out of here, as soon as Dr. Fletcher signed off on the discharge paperwork. Tonight at last, he would sleep in his own bed. And he could lounge on his lanai and walk along the beach, even if he was forbidden from swimming for the time being. He glanced at the cast on his arm and a corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile — hell, he'd just get a waterproof cast cover and then he would ignore the doctor's instructions with no compunctions whatsoever.

"Hey, big brother!" Mary stuck her head in the door, and at the sound of her voice Steve's scowl lifted into a tired smile. He was looking forward to spending time with her and Joanie at home.

"Hey, Sis. Come on in... sit down." He patted on the chair next to his bed. "Where's Joanie?"

"Out in the hall with Grace. I'll bring her to you in just a minute." Mary stayed standing next to the bed, wringing her hands.

"What's up, Mary?" Steve reached out with his good hand to grasp her hands and give them a warm squeeze.

"I have to get back to Los Angeles," she said softly as she finally sat down beside him. "I wanted to spend more time with you, but if I don't go, I'm going to lose my job. My flight's at three."

Steve resisted his initial urge to protest. He could hear the regret in her voice and he didn't want to pile a guilt trip on top of that. He clasped his sister's hand. "I'm gonna miss you, you know that, right? But I'll be OK." He flashed her a smile. "And maybe when I'm done with physical therapy I'll go visit you in LA."

"You'd better." Mary gave him a kiss on the forehead. "I love you, Steve. I'm…" Her voice hitched slightly, and she paused for a second. "When I thought you were dead, I… well… you're all Joanie and I've got. I mean, there's Doris, but we don't even know where she is or when she'll come back. You are the one stable person in my life." Her tone shifted from tender to bossy. "So don't you dare do that to me ever again, you got that?!"

Steve tossed her a lopsided grin accompanied by a snappy salute. "Yessir! Never again, Sir!" Suddenly serious, he leaned in close to look her in the eyes. "I love you too, Sis. I'm sorry I put you through all that, but I'm here now. And I don't plan on going anywhere, any time soon."

"Good. Hey… I'll go get Joanie now. She'd never forgive me if I didn't let her come kiss her Uncle Steve goodbye."

"Hey, she's not the only one!" Steve called after her as he settled back against his pillows to wait.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Danny took a swig from his Longboard. What had he been thinking, anyway?! Since Mary had gone home and no one else was available to keep Super SEAL's sorry ass out of trouble, he'd volunteered for the job. Well, it wasn't as if Steve had solicited volunteers or anything. Danny had taken it upon himself. "Hey, I just want to make sure you don't abuse my liver," he'd quipped when Steve protested the presence of a live-in babysitter. "If I don't stay, you're liable to be climbing walls and jumping off roofs and ignoring everything the doc has told you."

Yesterday, Steve had gone off his pain meds — flushed them all down the toilet — even though it was clear to Danny that he needed them. He still got headaches, which made him irritable. "What?" Danny had asked. "You can't bear to be like the rest of us mere mortals and follow your doctor's instructions? Don't be a martyr, Steve!"

"It says every eight hours 'as needed,' Danny," Steve had retorted. "And I don't need it. I hate how it makes my mind fuzzy — I've got too much to deal with. If I have to choose between pain and brain fog, I'll take the pain. Besides, I want to kick back some Longboards with you… can't do that if I'm on those meds."

Steve's argument seemed quite reasonable now that Danny had put back a few beers. When he'd first made it, it had seemed full of holes, but Danny had given in. He couldn't deny that the idea appealed to him. Besides, there was no arguing with Steve when he got an idea in his head. So here they were, sitting on the lanai. They'd both had a couple so far, and they had a cooler full on the ground between them.

Danny knew he'd probably already had more than he should, but he wasn't working, Rachel had the kids, and he and Steve had nowhere they needed to go and nothing better to do. "Ya know, Steve… it's not the brain fog you hate." He took another swallow of his beer before going on. "What you hate is not being in control of the world." Danny regretted the comment even as it escaped his mouth. He knew what Steve was dealing with. His bank account was still frozen because they couldn't get it through their thick skulls that he was alive, even with the slew of evidence to the contrary. His health insurance had denied coverage for his surgery for the same reason — he was dead and therefore no longer qualified for benefits. "Look, you've got all these balls up in the air, but you can't see to juggle 'em. And walking around with migraines isn't going to help you."

"I can see just fine, Danno... mostly," Steve grumbled.

 _Liar._ Danny left the word unspoken. Steve refused to wear the glasses the doc had prescribed for him, probably because of Danny's "Mr. Magoo" quip the first time he put them on. Danny felt a little guilty about that… a little. Steve had looked hilarious in the things. "Yeah, mostly." Danny was using his most paternal cajoling tone now, the one that got Charlie to eat his vegetables and Grace to clean her room. "You're getting there. Everything is gonna work out — it's just gonna take time. I know that's not what you wanna hear and I get it. Paperwork and banks and red tape are a hassle. The hoops are stupid. But ya gotta jump through them anyway. That's just life, pal."

"I can't _do_ the paperwork, Danny!" Steve gestured toward his right arm in its sling, then thumped his empty bottle down on the lanai table a little harder than necessary. He took another from the cooler next to his chair. "But I've been talkin' with 'em. Answered all their questions. They keep passin' me off someone else. Feels like they keep movin' the damn hoop."

"I know it. You want maybe we should start an investigation into the wackos or somethin'? Jus' gimme th' word." The fact that Danny'd had a few Longboards too many was fairly obvious as his Jersey accent was thickening by the second. "I will be happy to kick down some doors for you any time, Pal." He waved one arm expansively and only succeeded in nearly unseating himself.

With a wry chuckle, Steve raised his Longboard in a salute. "Kick 'em, Danno."

"OK, think I'll do that. Where should I start?" Danny got up and started moving toward the house.

Steve gave a lopsided grin. "Not those doors, Danno. I'm speakin'... frig... uh... figgeratively."

"Oh." Danny frowned, looking disappointed. "Well, okay, then, but I gotta go see a guy about a horse." At the confused look on Steve's face, he staggered upright and grinned. "A leak, Super SEAL. I gotta go take a leak." Danny staggered into the house.

When Danny returned, Steve was sitting there, staring into the distance, his Longboard seemingly forgotten in his hand, a glum expression on his face. "I don't like bein' dead, Danno," he said when Danny put a hand on his shoulder. "How'm I gonna get 'em to listen?"

"Go march across their desks?" Danny resumed his seat and reached for another beer, then thought better of it.

Steve shifted in his seat. "Won't work."

Danny thought for a long moment, then brightened. "I got it… we hit 'em Jersey style...

"Jersey style?" Steve's forehead wrinkled.

"Yep. We strike till they bring you back to life. The whole of 5-0. On strike."

"Let th' cinim… th' crini... er… th' bad guys run rampant?"

"Let HPD deal with them." Something about looking for a solution to his friend's problem had sobered Danny quickly. "They did it for years without us. Just not as well. And the state is spoiled now. They don't want to be without us. We make a difference, Steve."

Steve shook his head. "Could work… if we weren't on leave. They've made it without us how long now? Few months, right?

That cajoling tone surfaced again. Danny knew Steve hated it — at least, when he was sober — but it was too easy slipping into Dad mode with the overgrown child he'd taken charge of. "Hey… do you really think the State Department is gonna be happy with the possible publicity from something like this? One press release. That's all it'll take. Watch."

Steve leaned forward, his movements exaggerated, and clapped his hand over Danny's "Well then… I leave it in yer cep… er… capabable han's, Book 'Em Danno."

Danny raised his eyebrows. "You don't get to call me that. Otherwise, I just might leave you dead."

Steve shrugged. "Least then I won' hafta pay for the drinks."

Danny just rolled his eyes and grabbed another Longboard.

Steve mirrored his actions, saluting Danny once more with his bottle. "You're a real prince... Prince Danno."

Danny just smirked. "Yeah, that's me, a prince." There was bitter edge to his words he hoped the booze would disguise.

Steve stared at Danny for a long moment. "Wass wrong, Buddy?"

Danny stood and stretched. "Ahhh, nothin'. I need sleep. I'll see you at breakfast... maybe. Thanks for the beer... and the hangover. Good night." He started towards the house, but Steve grabbed his arm as he walked past.

"C'mon, Danny. Don't shut me out." He raised an eyebrow. "You can tell me anything, Pal. After all... dead men tell no tales." He seemed surprisingly sober all of a sudden, no slur at all to his words, though his eyes were still a bit dazed.

Danny snickered a little, but his eyes were sad. "It just hit me tonight that I keep losing the relationships in my life that are most important to me. Either they die on me or they get tired of my crap. Even my mom loves me better from a distance. And now you... You damn near died halfway around the world. Alone. You would've been gone from my life and I never would have known why." He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, acutely aware of the tension headache that throbbed behind his eyes. "I would hate that, Steve. And you do stuff like this all the time. Like it's a game. It's not. Not to me. You're my best friend. I can't lose you. Do me a favor and don't say anything. Just let me go to sleep. We can talk later if you want. Okay?"

Steve frowned. "I'm sorry, Danny."

Danny mustered a tired smile. "It's okay, Steve. We'll be all right. I'll see you in the morning." And he headed on into the house.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Steve slept on the lanai that night. The weather was warm and the sound of the surf soothing. Besides, he'd had too much to drink and he didn't feel steady on his feet. He wasn't sure how Danny had managed to make it inside.

Come morning, before he even opened his eyes he could feel the sunlight stabbing into his head. Usually, he awoke before dawn, but the night of indulgence had really done him in. He sat up, scrunching up his eyes in the morning light. _Mocha Almond Fudge,_ he thought. _Best thing for a hangover._ He generally kept some in the freezer, though he wasn't sure if he had any now. He hadn't restocked since he came home.

He lumbered to his feet and headed for the door, stepping in quietly to avoid waking Danny, who he figured might be sacked out on the sofa if he hadn't wanted to brave the stairs to get to the guest room.

"Damn," he muttered as he rummaged through the freezer. There were several flavors of ice cream, but not the kind he needed now. He wasn't sure what it was about Mocha Almond Fudge, but it was just the ticket on those rare occasions when he had too much to drink. Soothed away his headache and helped him to think clearly again. Danny's snores echoed from the living room, and Steve wasn't about to wake him up to go to the store for him. But he spied Danny's key fob on the kitchen counter and grinned in spite of the daggers lancing through his head.

His vision had improved in the week since he'd been released from Tripler, but things still looked pretty fuzzy. The doctor had prescribed glasses, with a promise that they were temporary, but Steve had promptly and conveniently misplaced the spectacles not long Danny pinned the moniker 'Mr. Magoo' on him.

 _My eyesight isn't that bad any more. I mean… it's just a little blurry. I can make things out. And the grocery store isn't far. And the road won't be busy this time of day._ He pocketed the key fob and went into the living room.

A little trip away from home was just what the doctor ordered. Scratch that… no question the doctor would forbid it. But it was what he needed. Danny had been watching him like a hawk for the last week, his self-declared babysitter. Steve found it stifling. _Well, it looks like it's finally baby's day out!_ He smirked as he grabbed his wallet from the secretary desk in the entry hall and stuck it in his hip pocket, then opened the door, stepped out onto the porch, and very quietly pulled the door shut again. A short walk brought him to the driveway, where Danny's sleek black Chevy Camaro sat parked. Steve felt a thrill of anticipation as he stepped to the driver's side.

He opened the door and slid behind the wheel. "You missed me, didn't you?" he said as he patted the steering wheel. Reaching around the wheel with his left hand, he started the car and flicked on the radio, quickly finding a station he liked. He sat for a moment, tapping the steering wheel in time to the beat, appreciating the way the Camaro's engine seemed to purr. A vague thought flashed through his mind that he might ought to reconsider his plans, but it sounded too much like Danny's voice for him to listen to it. _Figures my conscience would sound just like Danny._ After he had adjusted the seat to his liking, he glanced in the rearview mirror and squinted to make the image he saw there clearer. Then he shifted into reverse and pressed his foot on the gas pedal.

Half a minute later, he heard the sickening crunch of metal and his body lurched forward. "Dammit!" He slammed on the brakes and threw the car into park. With a loud groan, he pounded his fist against the steering wheel, then leaned back and closed his eyes.

A few seconds later, the driver's side door was yanked open. Steve looked up to see Danny standing there, his arms crossed over his chest. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

Steve stared up at him for a minute. "No, I'm not hurt, Danny. Thank you for asking. And how are you this fine day?"

Danny just shook his head. "Are you… No, strike that, you ARE crazy!" He grasped Steve by the collar and yanked him out of the car. "You're lucky it was just the mailbox, Steve!" Danny pushed him up against the side of the car and held him there with a hand to his chest as he glared at him. Steve knew a rant was forthcoming. "Maybe Fletcher crossed a few wires or something? Because I can't imagine that even you would be idiotic enough to try driving a car when you can't see straight!"

Steve watched his friend flex his hand a couple of times, curling it into a fist and then uncurling it. "Go ahead, Danny. You know you want to." He wasn't sure why he felt like fighting, but at the moment he loved the idea of a good knock-down, drag-out free-for-all. He wasn't going to start it, though. Goading Danny was more fun.

Danny flexed his fist again and started to pull it back, then dropped it with a shake of his head and a wry laugh. "It's tempting. Really tempting. But no. I'm not going to risk rattling what's left of your brain."

"Ah, you're just afraid I'd beat the crap out of you."

Danny stared at him for a moment, then let go of him and backed away. "It isn't going to work, Steve. Not this time." And he turned and strode away.

"Chicken." Steve regretted the snide remark the instant he said it. He knew Danny Williams was no coward.

Danny didn't respond, at least not in words. He just stopped mid-stride. He was far enough away now, Steve couldn't really make out what he was doing, but he knew Danny well enough to realize the man was trying hard not to explode.

"Hey man," he called out. The edge in his tone had been softened by chagrin. "I'm sorry. I... don't know what got into me. I didn't mean that."

"Yeah. I know." Danny shoved his hands in his pockets and looked up toward the sky for a long moment before turning to face Steve. "Look, Steve, I know you're frustrated. But you've gotta take it easy and let your body heal. You just had brain surgery, for cryin' out loud. It's no wonder your emotions are a little wild right now. But you've gotta remember what the surgeon said. Even if you feel better, you've gotta go slow or you'll just set yourself back. Now... where were you planning to go when you got in the car?"

Steve shrugged. "Grocery store. Need some mocha almond fudge ice cream."

Danny chuckled as he rubbed at his head. "Yeah, I could use a pint or two myself. OK, then, let's go to the store. But I'm driving."

Steve sucked in a deep breath. He hated to admit that Danny was right, but he hated even more the thought of going back in the house and spending another day doing nothing. He walked around the car and got in on the passenger side while Danny slid in behind the wheel. "Tell you what... after we get ice cream, let's go to Kamekona's. I haven't seen him since I got home."

Danny shook his head. He pulled the car forward, away from the mailbox, then backed out onto the street. "I've got a better idea. Let's go stage a sit-in at the bank until they straighten out your mess. We can call the governor herself if we have to. Then you can buy me lunch and pay for my car repairs."

"I guess it's the least I could do." Steve leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

Danny snickered. "Ya got that right, Pal." As he turned onto the road, he reached on hand to give Steve's shoulder a squeeze. "Listen, babe. Things will work out eventually. They always do."

"Yeah, I know." Steve was quiet for a long moment, staring out the window. "Hey Danny… about last night..."

"Steve, don't."

"You had your say, now let me have mine," Steve snapped, but then he sighed and softened his tone. "Danny, you aren't going to lose me. I'm putting in for a medical discharge from the Reserves." He kept his gaze fastened on the blur of passing scenery outside the window because he wasn't sure he could keep his emotions out of his expression. The very thought of stepping back from the Reserves was killing him, but so was the thought of bringing more heartache to his sister or his best friend. He had to weigh which meant more to him, and when it came down to the wire, the people who had stood by him through thick and thin were the clear choice.

He wasn't prepared for Danny to pull to the side of the road and stop the car. He thumped the steering wheel with his fists and growled. "No."

"Danny?"

"I said no, Steve. You're not doing it. You're going to do your damnedest to get through your therapy and recover completely. And if you do end up taking medical discharge, it won't be because of some idiotic thing I said when I was three sheets to the wind."

"But Danny, I —"

"You don't want to put me through that again, I know." Danny turned to him, his voice cracking as his hands moved a mile a minute. "But… you will. Because it's who you are. You would be miserable otherwise. Just… don't go off again without telling me, OK? You've gotta give me that much. I at least want to know when I should be worried about you, all right?"

Steve scrubbed his hand over his face. "Yeah, all right. I promise."

"Thank you." Danny put the car in drive again, then checked the mirrors before pulling out into traffic.

"Are we good, brah?" Steve asked.

Danny didn't answer right away, but he finally clapped Steve on the shoulder. "Yeah, Pal. We're good."

Steve nodded, exhaling a long breath he hadn't even been aware that he was holding. They were good, and whatever happened, they would stay that way. Yeah, his country had forsaken him. That was a necessary risk he had accepted back in BUD/S training. He could live with it — no regrets — because he knew without a doubt that his ohana would never forsake him. They had his back and thanks to them he was alive and free and reclaiming his life piece by piece.

Steve glanced over at the man driving silently by his side. He thought back to that fateful first meeting in his garage all those years ago and chuckled to himself. Aloud, he simply said, "Hey, can't you move any faster? We're gonna die of old age by the time we get there." He squinted a little and was rewarded with seeing Danny's mouth and eyes fly wide open. _Cue the rant,_ Steve thought.

Sure enough, within seconds, Danny was in full-on Danny rant, at his finest, his hangover forgotten. And he never noticed his partner settling back into his seat, a contented smile on his face.


	18. Chapter 18 -- Epilogue

**Author's Note: Thank you, all my loyal readers, for seeing this story through to its end with me! I am very happy to present this epilogue, which I hope satisfactorily ties up the remaining storylines for you. When I started, I had no intentions of including a romance or even of bringing so many people back to the US with Steve! But the characters had their own ideas and I've found it's almost always wise to go along with them.**

 **I'd like to give katbybee a special shout-out, not just as my beta reader, but as my co-author for this epilogue. She had the idea for the scene in the Pak family's new home, and so I asked her to write it out for me. I did some minor editing to blend it with what I had already written, but the bulk of it is as she wrote it. She did an excellent job and helped me bring the story to a great ending! Thank you, kat! You are awesome!**

 **My attention turns now to my stories _Invasion_ (H50) and _Through the Flames_ (Emergency), as well as to getting back into my long-neglected Hart to Hart story, _Lonely Hart._ I'd love to have you join me on those journeys as well!**

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

On a sunny Saturday in mid-May, Steve looked in the mirror and tugged his jacket downward. He appraised himself from the dress cover on his head to the Corfams on his feet, then gave an approving nod to what he saw. A few months ago, his uniform would have hung off his skinny frame like rags on an old scarecrow, but with a carefully regimented diet, he no longer appeared like the sallow skeleton that had stared out at him from the mirror in the weeks after he left the hospital. His vision was clear now, almost back to the 20/20 it had been before his injuries. Occasionally, when he was very tired, his left eye tended to wander a little, but that was nothing, and his doctor thought continued vision therapy would clear it up over time. He flexed his right arm, then fisted his hand around the hilt of his saber and squeezed it tight. Just over six months after his surgery, the arm was back to full strength. All in all, Steve felt good.

"You done admiring your ugly mug yet?" Danny asked.

Steve pivoted on his heel to see his best friend struggling with his tie. "Need some help there, Book 'Em Danno?" Danny sported a dark-blue dress uniform with a 5-0 patch on the shoulder.

"Knock it off," Danny growled. "And I've been tying my own tie for decades now. I just need you to stop hogging the mirror."

Determined to hold his ground, Steve pulled off his cap and combed his hair, even though every strand was already in place. "How many rooms are in my house? And you could've gotten ready in any one of them... but instead you're in here griping at me. Your favorite pastime, right?"

"Everybody needs a hobby." Danny shouldered past Steve to take his place in front of the mirror. "Better watch out... those eyes are gonna roll right outta your head and Charlie'll use 'em as marbles."

Steve shoved Danny to the side, then set his cap back in place and moved back a couple steps. "Be my guest," he said with a grand gesture toward the spot he'd just vacated. While Danny grumbled his way through properly knotting his tie, Steve stepped to the window to take in the view of his stretch of beach, where several rows of chairs had been set up facing a white gazebo. Lavender and white tulle was entwined around the gazebo arch and down the supports, and arrangements of hibiscus flowers in a profusion of colors festooned the platform. It was the perfect day for a wedding — not too hot and hardly a cloud in the sky. Steve looked forward to serving as Joe's best man.

A knock at the door drew Steve's attention away from the view out the window. "Come in!" he called. The door creaked open to admit an old friend. "Chin! You made it!"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, Brah!" Chin had moved to San Francisco with Abby and Sarah a couple months ago, but he had returned with Kono and Adam for the wedding. Chin hugged both Danny and Steve, then stepped back to look Steve over. "You look good. How's the arm?"

"Good as new." Steve flexed his arm and flashed a smile. "I'm ready to get back to work."

"When will that happen?"

"Bright and early Monday morning." He nodded to Danny. "Sure hope you're not too used to being in charge, Danno."

Danny, his tie finally adjusted to his satisfaction, threw up his hands. "I'm more than ready to hand it all back to you, Pal! Too much paperwork!" His cell phone chirped with an incoming text, and he glanced at it. "Time for me to get downstairs — Arkady's already there. We start seating guests in five minutes. Uh... maybe you'd better go check on the groom." He opened the door, only to find Joe White about to knock. "Well, speak of the devil! Looking good, Joe." He brushed past Joe and headed for the stairs, followed by Chin.

Steve eyed Joe as he crossed the threshold. He looked snappy in his dress blues. He also looked terrified. _No, not terrified — shell-shocked,_ Steve thought. _Like he's a green recruit, not sure whether to charge or flee._ Fear was not something Steve was accustomed to seeing on his stoic mentor's face. He clapped Joe on the back. "You all right?"

Joe's steely eyes blinked. "Three times I've done this and three times I've failed." His gaze pointedly avoided Steve's. "This time... I want things to be different. Am I kidding myself, Steve? Hell, the one thing my three ex-wives agreed on was that I ruined their lives. I... don't want to do that to Mila."

"You won't." Steve rested his hand on Joe's shoulder. "Listen to me, Joe. You know as well as I do that Mila is different. Your exes wanted to change you. Mila... well... she's willing to take you as you are." He grinned. "And she's probably the only woman alive badass enough for you." He glanced back out the window. A crowd of guests, many in uniform, were buzzing around on the lawn. Danny was escorting a young woman to her seat; behind him, Arkady, all decked out in his HPD cadet uniform, was bowing slightly to an elderly woman and offering her his arm.

"Mila is something else, isn't she?" Joe said. Steve turned back to look at him, noting with satisfaction that the light in his friend's eyes as he spoke of his bride seemed to chase away the shadows of anxiety.

"She sure is." Steve chuckled. Joe had changed over the months since Mila had come into his life. Oh, he was still a man of steel, a Navy SEAL from head to toe. And yet Lyudmila had softened him somehow. Not weakened... no, Joe seemed stronger than ever. Just... less grim. Love definitely suited him — not that Steve would actually say so in Joe's hearing. "Sergei going to join us before we go down?" he asked instead. Joe's soon-to-be brother-in-law would be standing up with him alongside Steve.

Joe shook his head. "He's out on the lanai. I think he knew I needed some space to talk with you before the ceremony. Steve..." He paused for a moment, and Steve almost thought he'd changed his mind about whatever he was going to say when he finally continued. "You know you're the closest thing I have to a son."

Steve gave a brisk nod. Joe had been a father figure for him ever since his own dad had sent him away from Hawaii when he was a teenager, and the bond between them had only grown stronger over the years, though on occasion it had been strained. "I know, Joe."

"Well... I..." He stopped, and his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "I just want you to know I'm awfully proud to have you standing up with me today. Thank you." He pulled Steve into a quick hug, then let him go when someone knocked.

Steve opened the door to find the wedding coordinator. "It's time for you to come take your places," she instructed as she cast a nervous glance at her watch. "Hurry please. We are running a few minutes behind."

"Doesn't she know about island time?" Steve whispered in an aside to Joe as the two men headed downstairs to meet Sergei on the lanai and then take their places in front of the small gathering.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

"Psst! Danno!"

Danny smiled down at Charlie, who was about to head down the aisle. The little boy grinned at his dad and puffed out his chest, evidently pleased with himself. He carried a carved koa-wood ring box, handling it as carefully as if it were fine china. Charlie was all decked out in a tuxedo with a lavender cummerbund. He had wanted to wear a uniform like his dad's but had been placated when Mila told him how handsome he looked in his tux. Now Danny wondered if he would ever get the kid to take the penguin suit off!

"Hey, buddy," Danny whispered, then held a finger to his lips and waggled an eyebrow. "Remember… no talking up there."

"I know that, Danno!" the boy said with a soft giggle. He was antsy, eager to make his procession down the aisle, following Alex and Kono, but the wedding coordinator had a hand on his shoulder to hold him back until the proper time.

Finally, she patted his back and said, "It's your turn, Charlie."

The boy followed Alex, holding himself as straight as he could, just as he had practiced during the rehearsal. Danny watched him, his own chest puffing out with pride for his son. The little boy took his role as ring bearer very seriously. He and Mila had become good friends from their first meeting, and he'd been thrilled when she and Joe asked him to take part in their wedding.

Steve's niece Joanie went next, scattering pink rose petals along the bamboo aisle runner that had been laid out between the chairs. The pianist began playing Pachelbel's Canon, and all the guests stood and turned to watch Lyudmila follow Joanie down the aisle.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Steve stood ramrod straight in his place beside the groom and watched the procession of the bridal party. First came Kono, who was beautiful in her simple purple mumu. Like Chin, she had found her calling stateside, and Steve had missed her. It was good to see her again, even if only briefly. Adam sat in the front row of chairs, a longing gaze focused on his wife. He'd told Steve that Kono wouldn't be staying long. She would leave for the airport immediately after the ceremony. Steve understood the impulse that drove her — the desire to rescue young women from trafficking and to see justice done to those who profited from their harm. But her departure, along with Chin's, had left a gaping hole. 5-0 would never be the same without them.

Behind Kono came Alex, the maid of honor, her warm gaze fastened on Lyudmila's brother. Steve knew that Alex had fought the idea of a relationship for the first few months after they'd returned. She'd even returned to Europe a few months ago, intent on covering the war in Ukraine from the front lines. But she hadn't been able to stay away long. After only a few weeks, she had emailed Steve, asking him to meet her at the airport. When she emerged from the secure area, he'd noticed the haunted look in her eyes right away. She hadn't wanted to talk about it, but had just asked him to take her straight to Sergei.

She brought hard news. Sergei's best friend, Taras, the gentle giant who had saved his life and watched over him in the hospital for weeks, had been killed in a mortar attack. His final act had been to save the lives of three others in his unit. Apparently, one of the last things he'd said to Alex had been, "Your heart is not here. I can see that you have left it with Fox."

And so she'd come back, to bring Sergei the sad news, along with a letter that Taras had written to him in the days before his death; but even more, she'd come to find her heart again. Stricken as he was by the loss, Sergei had managed to bring life and joy back to Alex's eyes. She had taken a job with the _Honolulu Gazette_ and had settled happily into life with Sergei. They planned to marry in September.

Charlie came next, trotting down the aisle with the ring-box in his hands, Joanie right behind him. Steve grinned at the sight. He couldn't love those kids more if they were his own. His grin faded as quickly as it had come. His own kids... he'd pretty much given up on that dream at this point.

He forced his thoughts back to the wedding, focusing all his attention on Mila as she practically floated down the aisle, her hand tucked into the crook of Lou Grover's elbow. Lou had proudly agreed to take the place of the bride's father, even though she was fairly close to him in age. To Steve, it seemed only fitting that 5-0 — represented by Lou — should give Mila away at her wedding. After all, they were her ohana now.

Mila had never struck Steve as particularly beautiful. Not that she was unattractive, but she tended to cultivate a rather severe appearance. Now, dressed in an ivory mumu-style dress with a hibiscus brocade, flowers in her long dark hair, she was stunning. As she drew closer to where her groom stood waiting, Steve realized that it wasn't the dress or the flowers that made her look beautiful right now — it was the joyful spark in her eyes, the soft smile on her lips, the way she moved toward Joe and slipped her hand into his. The sight infused Steve with a deep sense of longing. Not for Mila, whom he had come to think of as an older sister, but for what she and Joe had found together.

Once upon a time, Steve had hoped to have that with Catherine... marriage, kids, the whole package. But she'd walked away. On occasion she would waltz back into his life, but before long she would disappear again. He hadn't even seen her since he'd come home. Apparently, she'd gone back in the field. They'd talked briefly on the phone after she saw a news story about his return and called him, but she hadn't told him where she was. He hadn't asked. He still cared about her — he figured he always would — but he had accepted the fact that they weren't meant to be together. Maybe someday he would find a woman who made him forget Catherine's pull on his heart, but he wasn't going to hold his breath.

The wedding ceremony was brief but beautiful. Before Steve knew it, the chaplain was telling Joe, "You may kiss your bride." As Joe pulled Mila into his arms and lowered his lips to hers, the guests erupted into cheers. Amidst scattered "Oorahs" and "Hooahs," the prevailing shout was a resounding "Hooyah!" from a crowd of Joe's former trainees, Steve's voice among the loudest of them.

The kiss had been the cue for the men who would form the saber arch to take their places behind the back row of seats. After the chaplain presented "Lieutenant Commander and Mrs. Joe White," the happy couple began their walk down the aisle together. In a smooth (and pre-approved) move, Steve switched places with Sergei, allowing him to walk out arm in arm with his fiancée while Steve escorted Kono. He bent over to speak quietly in her ear. "We've missed you around here."

Kono looked up at Steve with a fleeting smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Her haunted gaze burned with an intensity that unnerved him. "I can't stay, Steve," she whispered. "I'm sorry, but I can't."

"I know." He kissed her cheek, then passed her to Adam as they reached the last row of chairs. "Stay safe, Kono." He stood back and watched as she and Adam walked away.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

The reception flew by, and before Steve knew it, the time had come to see Joe and Mila off. Danny had been trying to get Joe to tell him where he would be taking his bride, but Joe had steadfastly refused. Steve knew, of course — hell, he'd helped Joe make his plans! — but all he would tell Danny was, "It's classified." He loved the way those words never failed to rile his best friend.

Joe's silence over the planned destination had only served to heighten his friends' curiosity, and eventually they'd organized a betting pool. Steve had declined to participate, seeing as he had inside information, and so he had been made the keeper of the pool, which all had agreed would be given to the charity of the winner's choice. Steve knew, but no one else did, that the HPD's widows' and orphans' fund would be grateful to Lou Grover for the winning bet.

"Mila's always saying how much she wants to see the mainland," Lou had said when he handed over his $20. "I'll bet Joe's takin' her on an American tour."

Danny had scoffed. He was sure that the honeymoon would involve dangerous adventure in some remote corner of the world. But Lou was right on the money. He hadn't guessed the specific locations, but no one else had come close. Joe and Mila would fly from Honolulu to Los Angeles tonight and would spend the next three months on a trip across the US. They only had a couple of activities mapped out — river rafting in the Grand Canyon and hiking in the Colorado Rockies. Beyond that, Joe figured they would let Mila's interests guide them. Come September, they would settle in at Joe's ranch in Wyoming, with plans to return to Hawaii for Christmas.

Before climbing into the chauffeured Humvee, its camouflage paint job obscured by dozens of bright island blossoms, "Just Married" scrawled in large shaving-cream letters across the back, Mila tossed her bouquet. Grace caught it. Steve watched the girl glance at Will Grover with a bashful smile as she drew the flowers close to her chest. He elbowed Danny and nodded to Grace, then to Will, who seemed frozen in place, looking a little bit shell-shocked. "You ready for that, Pal?"

Danny raised his hands and shook his head. "No way! Not goin' there!" But even as he protested, his eyes twinkled, and Steve knew that he approved of his daughter's beau. Will was a courteous, intelligent young man who shared his father's instinct to protect the people he loved. Grace couldn't have chosen better.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Late that night, after the last guests and the clean-up crew had gone home, Steve and Danny sat side by side on the lounge chairs Steve kept near the water, gazing up at the stars while the waves lapped at the sand. Something they'd done numerous times over the years. Neither one had much to say. Unusual for the two of them, Steve knew, and yet for the moment the quiet just felt right. He had a lot on his mind, and he appreciated that Danny was letting him mull it all over.

It had been nearly a year since he'd left the island to lead the mission that had almost resulted in his death, or at least so he'd been told. On occasion, Steve wished that those weeks he'd worked so hard to recover from were something more than a blank page in his mind, but never for long. The counselor he'd been required to see had suggested hypnosis to recover the memories, but Steve had refused. The last year had been incredibly hard, but that really wasn't what he wanted to remember. There was too much good to let the bad weigh him down.

He had made new friends because of his ordeal, and he had watched their lives change for the better. Arkady Antonov had enrolled in HPD's police academy, with the promise of a place in 5-0 as soon as he completed the program. Sergei's rehabilitation was going well, and he wasn't just walking on his state-of-the-art prosthetic leg — he was preparing to run in a marathon. His goal was to compete in the Invictus Games, maybe not this year in Sydney, but at the next games for sure.*

Then there were the Parks — Pak Hun Ji and his family. They had chosen English names before they ever arrived in the US. Ji had become John Park, his wife went by Hannah, and their son had chosen the name David. With Steve's help, John had found work as a ranch hand at the Keoni Makana Ranch, where he had proven to have a good way with horses. Hannah was working for a florist — in fact, she had arranged the flowers for today's wedding — and she had become fast friends with Keoni's daughter, who had a son about David's age. Two weeks from now, Steve would watch as they were sworn in as United States citizens.

Next to Steve, Danny yawned. He leaned over and picked up his empty Longboards. "Mind if I crash here tonight? Probably shouldn't drive just now."

Steve nodded absently. It took him a moment to register what Danny had said. Before his friend could head up to the house, Steve reached over and grabbed his arm. "I'd do the same thing all over again, Pal," he said, in a quiet but fierce tone. "No doubt about it."

He knew Danny would understand what he was talking about. Months ago, his friend had asked him, "Was it worth it, Steve? If you had known what was going to happen, would you still have gone?" Steve hadn't answered him then. He couldn't. But then the Parks had arrived and Steve had watched them settle in.

He was amazed at how quickly his Korean friends adapted to life in the islands. Along with their new names, they had taken on some of the traditions of their adopted home as well. This showed in the way they decorated their home, and in their dress and language.

Steve was pleased that David was making friends in school. He and Keoni's grandson, Akoni, were thick as thieves, and David now chattered away in fluent English (and reasonably good Hawaiian) about their escapades. He was becoming quite comfortable not only around the horses but also out in the water. Akoni had taught him to surf, and he had already entered a couple of junior surfing competitions. The boy showed real promise. Steve had started building him a trophy case for his next birthday.

Danny stood and squeezed Steve's shoulder. "I know you would. Never doubted it for a minute. Don't stay out here too long, yeah? You need your sleep."

"Yes, Mom." Steve scoffed, but he lifted his Longboard in a salute to his friend. As Danny headed for the house, Steve settled back into his memories, thinking back to the scene that had pretty well tied everything together for him. It had been the day 5-0 helped the Parks move into their house on the ranch.

They had gotten everything cleaned and moved in. Hannah had organized all the furniture and boxes into their proper places, and they had polished off a take-out dinner of pizza and soda. The conversation was light, and everyone was tired from the long day.

Steve was surprised when Hannah abruptly stood and hurried from the room. She came back after a few minutes, carrying a small, rather ragged burlap sack. She asked that John clear and wipe off the coffee table, which he did. The others looked on curiously, but none more so than her husband.

Shyly, in heavily accented English, Hannah explained as she removed a wooden box from the sack. "I dug this box out of the ground not far from our home before we left North Korea. It belonged to my husband's father. We buried it there long ago to protect our family from persecution… from the death that discovery of its contents would surely mean."

John paled at her words, but offered his wife a soft smile, urging her to go on. He reached for her hand and together they lifted out the precious contents from the box.

Steve found himself holding his breath as the Parks gently placed a book in the very center of the table. As he leaned in to read the title on the scuffed and worn cover, tears sprang unbidden to his eyes. He was surprised to see that the words were in English. "Holy Bible," he said softly.

Everyone stared at Hannah as she spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper. "When I knew we had to escape, that the soldiers were coming for us, I ran into the woods and dug up this box. My husband and I knew this to be God's book. We had promised each other, if we ever got away, we would bring it with us, learn to read it. Discover the God his father knew."

She lapsed into Korean and Steve began translating for her. "I did not know this God, but I asked Him to blind the eyes of those who should not see it, and to hide me and my son from their searchlights and guard dogs. In this way, I brought it here, to our new home. No one ever saw the sack or questioned me about it."

Hannah fell silent and everyone gazed in wonder at the old book. Steve looked up from the cracked leather binding to meet the slight woman's eyes in time to see her blink back tears.

Finally, John Park spoke. "This is what freedom is. My father cherished this book, and so we will read it." He grasped his wife's hand. "Our new government will not tell us we cannot do this. No soldiers with guns will harm us for what we believe or what we say. This is the freedom my father wanted for his family." He turned to his friends. "Thank you all." Hannah nodded shyly as the couple took their places on the couch and slowly the tension eased and the quiet conversation began again.

His mind gradually returning to the starry night and the cool breeze off the water, Steve leaned back in his lounge chair and breathed out a contented sigh. _That._ That book lying right in the open on the Park's coffee table. Freedom — to read, to believe, to speak, to make a good life for themselves. That's why he did what he did… took the risks, stood in harm's way. He always would. Even to the point of being forsaken.

The End

 **Notes**

*The Invictus Games, founded by Prince Harry, is an international sporting event for injured servicemen and women. The word _Invictus_ is Latin and means _unconquered_ or _undefeated._ The last games took place in Sydney, Australia in 2018; this epilogue is set in May 2018. The next Invictus Games will take place in The Hague in 2020, and Sergei will almost certainly be there!


End file.
